


Summer Children (Book 1)

by Rubyy



Series: The Wolf Queen [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, But we're going there, Direwolves_Freeform, F/M, Family Feels, Fix-It, Fluffy Direwolves, Greenseing, I try, I'll bite you!, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm not sure where I am going with this but I'm going somewhere!, I'm sorry!, Just bear with me here for a minute, Kinda, Ned need to learn to listen to his children, Night Watch-Freeform, Not yet a fix it, Season 1 canon divergence, Seriously this family need some love, Smart Jon, So much angst, Stark Family, Sweet perfect baby direwolves!, The Angst take some time before coming, Visions, almost, direwolves, i'm so sorry!, is it obvious?, it'll come later, like really, mostly - Freeform, no beta we die like men, obviously, posted on fanfiction.net, smart robb, stark pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2020-07-07 10:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 208,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubyy/pseuds/Rubyy
Summary: Robb is the firstborn son. The pride. The Legacy.Jon Snow is the disgrace. The shame.Then, for a time, I only had anger.Until the others.Forgivness, Love, Sansa.Acceptance, adaptation, AryaHope, Promises, Brandon.Peace, Legacy, Rickon.But before that, there had been anger.Anger. Burning fury. Kyria.I, Catelyn of Houses Stark and Tully are a devoted woman.  Every aspect of my life is governed by beliefs. My faith. In my Husband, in my family. In my gods.So, when my second child, my Kyria, was birthed by my anger. I wondered.Everything happens for a reason. The good and the bad.My Ned does not share my beliefs. His faith is for the Old gods. I believe in every god. I worship the Seven.But, part of me wonders. Which god cursed my child born of anger to live the life she lived? Which god, asked for my redemption within my girl's suffering?I do not know. But I can not shake off the feeling that everything is happening because of me. The fall or the rest. It is my curse. My responsibility. It shouldn't be my child's bearing too.I don't understand. I can't understand.No one can truly understand the gods. Old or New.





	1. Chapter 1: The First One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Guys!
> 
> So as you may notice, I changed a lot of things recently. The number of chapters just keep going over and over and I kind of get how confusing this could be xD
> 
> So, let's start with the beginning.
> 
> We are now with 21 chapters. Now you may wonder why chapters seem to keep going. Well to put it simply, before I started writing this story I made plans. Things that were supposed to happen in each chapter. BUT Obviously, I was kind of too hopeful about this xD.  
> Each time I successfully put every scene I want in one chapter the thing was almost 40 pages long. Which is wayyyyy too long. So I often ended up cutting the chapters into two different ones. Things were still long (as you can see), but compared to what it was before, I still think this is an improvement.  
> I mean, can you imagine if every chapter was 40 pages long? Almost 20K words?! Talk about insane! I mean, I wouldn't be really inclined in reading something this long, and I assume you would feel the same...
> 
> So Next, let's talk about Timelines!
> 
> I said in this very chapter (on the precedent note) that I cut the storyline of the show in three different timelines. As I went through my ideas I noticed that one of them didn't work with what I had planned for this.
> 
> Let me explain: I have FIVE books to write on this story for now. Yeah, FIVE, like the number after four! (Yeah I know you know what number is after four. But I just want to show you how insane I am for this project!)  
> So, when I realized that the Timeline for the Wall was not going to work, I decided to change it.
> 
> SO IMPORTANT THING HERE
> 
> The timeline will be cut in two instead of the original three:
> 
> ONE: the Part in Westeros will be the same as the show. The only difference will be WHEN Jon will leave for the Wall (no spoiler here, you all know Jon is going to the Wall because that's what he do in the story!)
> 
> The SECOND timeline will be in ESSOS and it will Start ONE YEAR after the begining of the plot in Westeros. And by plot I mean the one in the show, not mine xD.  
> So for those who still has difficulties: when the season two plot will start in Westeros, the season one will start in Essos. Still following me?  
> Perfect!
> 
> Another thing, concerning the characters! Or more precisely, their ages.  
> Let's see the thing: I made Robb birth a bit sooner than in the show, so he's almost a full year older than Jon who was born right at the end of the rebellion. I did this because I needed as much room as I could to put Kyria between Robb and Sansa. And I know that technically, there's still a five year gap between Robb and Sansa (in the show) but still!
> 
> So when we start this story here are the different ages:  
> Robb: 15  
> Jon: 14  
> Kyria: 13  
> Sansa: 10  
> Arya: 9  
> Bran: 8  
> Rickon: 4
> 
> Alright? There is another reason for all those changes in ages, but there's no point talking about this for now ;)
> 
> Still here? You're brave!  
> One last thing, English is not my first language, so if there is some mistook here and here, would you mind telling me so I can do better. Thank you!

**CHAPTER 1: The First One...**

**Year 296 A.C, Seventh day of the eighth month**

My first memory of this world is strange. As strange as the world itself I guess...

I saw a sky, almost white, low and fluffy with clouds. Under this sky, branches, with dark leaves. Some of them floating around.

For a second my eye caught one of them, as red as fresh blood. Then I wondered how I knew the color of fresh blood.

There was noises around me. I didn’t know what it was exactly. Voices? Animals? The wind? I closed my eyes. The light hurt them. So I close it. Simple. I felt good, with my eyes closed. The noises weren't loud any more.

Were they? I still heard one. Closer than the others. A cry, a sob maybe. He seemed close to me. Who was crying? It was kind of annoying. A small voice whining like a baby.

I took me some time to realize that the voice came from me. But it did. When it did, something was ripped around me. A veil between me and the world. A cocoon of protection, as weak as it was. Suddenly everythinf was clear and loud and painful. Like class in my skull piercing the king and scratching my brain. Tearing it appart.

I was on the floor. Cold and hard under me. I could feel legs and arms and hands. But i did not dare move.

I could feel my cries going out of my throat. It almost feels like I could breathe again. Then, my eyes flew open. And I saw who was talking around me. So many faces. Men, women, some with dirty faces, some with pretty clothes.

And I felt cold. By the gods so cold. I was freezing like a piece of meat left on the snow. Why was I so cold?! Well, maybe it was not that cold. There wasn't much snow from where I could see, or wind or anything that could explain the feeling.

But I was cold. And scared. What happened?! Why was I there? On the floor? Why did it hurt so much!? I didn’t even know where it hurt! It just did. In all my body! I was scared. Really Scared. Without the single clue of what was happening, or even where or who-

_Who I was…_

_Who am I? What’s my name? What happened to me?_

Fresh tears came rolling on my face. They were hot against my cold skin. My heart beat faster inside my chest. I panicked. What- I didn’t even know what question I wanted to ask first. I was surrounded by peoples without the smallest clue of their identities, in God only know where lying on the floor and so freaking hurt!

What happened to me?

Unable to stay like that for just one more second, I try to move. My head barely quit the floor and everything was troubled. Oh, gods. My head fell back a painful drum inside of my head preventing me from any other movement. I felt my hands shaking against the dirt. My vision was blurry and for one horrible second, I was certain I was going to throw up. In myself. It was like my head was rolling on the floor. Without my body.

What happened to me? I tried to turn my head without any other result than this nausea that followed the movement, as tiny as it was. A moan escaped my lips. Why was I so weak?

I felt like I couldn't do anything else than asking, again and again, the same questions. Why no one dared answer to me? Why couldn't I have any clarity? Fat tears keep rolling on my cheeks. More than fear I felt anger. Why did I have to feel pain? Why couldn't I tell anything else about the situation? Why didn't I have anything else to say? Nothing, no memories no name, no clue of who or even what I was! All I could feel was pain, and sorrow and the same questions coming over and over again inside my head. I was powerless.

By the gods I hated it.

« Oh by the Gods! Lady Kyria! »

« What happened ?! »

I couldn't think clearly, but I would have loved to know the answers to those questions. My breath came harshly from my throat. I wasn't sure if what came out of me was a moan or if I was only imagining those sounds.

People were agitated around me, talking and moving their arms. All I could see were the pale colors of their sleeves. Some had longer parts by the end, and some part of my head took them for women’s arms. One of them missed a finger. A strong hand, calloused and large. I followed it for a time, fascinated by the hole where his finger used to be. I wondered where he lost it.

Was it winter? I blinked at this thought, disrupted. Winter? Why the word left me trembling. I didn't like Winter. Why? Why Winter? Did I know it? Was I supposed to know it? Winter… something coming each year.

No, not each year… Cold. Snow… blizzard. Winter was bad for men. Cold long...deadly. Endure. Must endure winter. Why? What happens with it? Winter was bad. Winter was inevitable.

Winter… Winter winter winter…

 _Winter is coming_.

My breath was cut by a sob. I knew that. What was it? Those words, I knew them. How? Why? What did this mean?

“…. From the tree! It was all my fault!”

« Where is she? Is she well? »

« Let me see! »

«Kyria! »

Kyria? What was it? What was Kyria? Or who? It sounded like a name. Someone was calling this Kyria. Who was it?

I heard this name before. Kyria. Someone already said it. Kyria, Kyria... Lady Kyria. Yes, someone said Lady Kyria. Lady… nobility? Of what kind? Is there even a different kind? Why should it be? So many holes in my head. I could barely think.

« Go away! Let Lady Catelyn see her daughter! »

Daughter? Lady Catelyn? Lady Kyria? Around me, people parted, forming a pathway. For this Lady Catelyn? Did she want to see something? They were still all around me, like bees with honey. Everyone keeps coming closer as they talked. Angry whispers and broken voices invading my ears. Were they talking about me? Was I this Kyria? I couldn’t be sure.

Some faces came closer again, just above me. Then they moved away, looking with big eyes in the same direction. A tall woman appeared in a corner of my vision. Auburn hair waved slowly around a pale face. Bright blue eyes shined against her skin, red and full with tears. They looked like diamonds. A pale hand came covering equally pale lips. Some tears fell from her eyes.

She looked in my direction. No, no she looked at me. Were those tears at my sight? Was my situation worthy of those tears? Was I this pathetic? Pitiful? I couldn’t say.

I was hurt. That I knew for sure.

"Oh by the Seven- Kyria! Oh, you foolish child!"

She didn't let go of my eyes as she talks, confirming what I suspected without voicing it.

Kyria. Kyria was my name. It was me. As to prove it, even more, the great woman -a Lady? She looked noble enough with her gracious movement and rich dress- kneel next to my left hand, and took my face in her warm palms. Her smell a sweet mix of different flowers. Or grass? I couldn’t be sure. For a second I wanted to scratch my nose. But the pain in my head was quick to remind me of my situation. I didn’t dare make any move.

The lady keeps whispering at me, chasing tears and hairs from my face with elegant fingers. My sobs went stuck in my throat as my attention was entirely on the lady's face, leaning above my own. Without even completely realizing it, my sob came lower and lower, until they stopped completely. Between her own tears, the Lady smiled at me, her face as soft as her fingers, who keep caressing my cheeks.

“There my love, there. Everything is fine. You'll be all right. You'll be all right my dear, darling girl." she keeps breathing, barely lower than a whisper.

I didn't know how she does it, but there was something in her voice that calms me. Was it her eyes? Her face? Her voice? I couldn’t say for sure. But it worked. Whatever it was. It worked. I must have closed my eyes because when I opened them again, there were fewer people around me. The Lady seated next to me, a pan of her cape draped on my hand. The cape was warm and soft against my skin. Consequently, my other hand felt even colder. I couldn't detach my eyes from the lady's face. I kept looking, without really knowing what I was looking for.

Answers maybe. She had a beautiful face. Big blue eyes, good cheekbones...

I tried to ignore as much as I could the pain that keeps pumping inside me. Inside my head, my back, even behind my eyes.

My thought keeps escaping me, preventing any coherence inside my brain. My breath came out harshly out of my mouth. The cold air hurt my throat, as painful as an ice pick throws in it.

“Are you hurt my child?” asked the Lady.

I tried to answer, without much of a result. I didn't dare move my head either, afraid to puke on the sweet lady that tried to comfort me. I was pretty sure it wouldn't be well received. I felt so lost, so out of my league. Worse even, I didn't know what was my league. I didn't understand any of what was happening. I couldn't even think of what happening, considering the state of my head.

Just as I thought about it, a wave of pain, more intense than before, made me hiss. She hushed me again when my tears started to fall. I sniffed and grabbed the piece of the cape that fell against me.

«Kyria! Kyria ! » called a small voice behind the lady.

A little girl with long wild brown hair appeared above me, her face round and looking slightly familiar. Bit grey eyes shined as brightly as the lady blue ones. I blinked, and look at the lady again. They looked like each other. A bit. The same shape of the face, the same form of the eyes, big and round. Almost too big. Some things differed in the girl's face. The nose, the lips. The hair, darker, almost black.

A daughter?

The girl was crying too, saying this name, again and again, repeating how sorry she was. Who was she? Why was she sorry? Did she do something wrong? Did she do something to me? Did she… The pain inside me made itself known again. So much pain, everywhere. Did she do this?

I looked at her again. She looked small. Way smaller than the lady. I didn’t have a single clue of how tall I was myself. Maybe she could have done this to me.

Maybe… I didn’t know what to think. I wanted answers. I wanted to understand.

« Kyria I'm sorry! I shouldn't- I- I shouldn't have- » she said again, trying to hold my hand, still against the cape.

Her hands were small. More than mine. Small soft and warm. Seeing this little thing crying at my sight made me unease.

« Arya, move, they need space. »

The lady put a gentle hand in the girl's shoulder, and pull her closer to her. She hushed her the same way she did to me, her other hand in her temp, caressing her hair with gentle fingers. The ghost of those same fingers against my skin made me shiver with cold. The pain in my head reminded me of how little I could move. I moaned painfully trying so hard to restrain my tears, not with that much of success. Anger invade my head again. I didn't want to cry or whine like a little child. I didn't stop crying since the beginning of this mess, whatever that was. No more!

Several men came around, holding a long litter made of some soft leather and fur. Two of them came close to me and gently put me on it. I swallowed a cry of pure pain when they touched my back. One of them thankfully thought of holding my head. My vision was troubled again and nausea made its great return. My head was so painful it seemed almost ridiculous. How was I still conscious?

People keep moving around me, making me even dizzier. They seemed to disappear in shapes and forms and colors that made my head even more confusing. I clenched my teeth, and look back at the lady, or the girl. Both of them were still close to me, their eyes not letting go of mine for a second.

When my eyes cross the lady's, she held my hand again, a broken smile on her face. She looked worried. The girl's tiny hand hold the lady's cape like I did before and my eyes caught the little thing for some time. I think the litter may have moved, but I couldn't say for sure. Everything keeps moving around me, was it the trees, the leaves, the people or the walls. I couldn't trust myself to know if I was moving or not.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself lain on a large bed, coated with thick fur and soft sheets. The warm of the room invade my bones so quickly compared to the cold I felt until then, it felt like fire burning my bare bones. My breath stopped for a second when someone put some of the furs on me. The great lady hushed me and started stroking my hair again.

“It's all right my dear, it's all right. The Maester is coming to see you. Everything is all right." the lady said again.

What was a Maester? What did she talk about? Why a Maester would come for me? Was a Maester a healer? Or something close to it? Maester, Maester. I knew this. What was it?

Clatter sound...Chains...

Did it have something to do with chains? Chains like prisoners? I couldn’t tell for the life of me!

Questions, questions, always more questions. Why did they keep pulling more question out of my tired brain?

Couldn’t they just leave me alone?! My head was pulsing with my blood, within the beat of my heart. Each beat made me want to cry, as the pain came with it. I wanted it to end. I felt tired, too tired to deal with everything that was happening to me right now.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me. Leave me. Leave me. Leave me. Leave me alone.

LEAVE ME ALONE!

LEAVE LEAVE LEAVE!

LEAVE!

I keep screaming inside my head, leave leave leave, but people keep fussing around me, putting me out of the cape I didn't know I was wearing, pulling furs around me, adjusting it like I was some kind of infant. Every time someone tried to touch me, I wanted to scream at them. But my voice didn't come out.

I groaned, I hissed, but my voice didn't come out. After a time, as the last men left the room, leaving only the lady and the girl, I moaned half of a word. Or maybe only a sound. I couldn’t be sure. But I thought it so hard, please, please made them hear me and leave me the fuck alone!

My throat hurt me still, but I persisted. I had too many things to say to stay silent. With a newfound determination, as I felt the few strength I had to fail me, I opened my mouth and tried to use my voice.

To my relief, it worked. A bit. A broken voice, hoarse and painful came out of my mouth.

« Who… who are you? »

The lady’s eyes became so large, for one second I feared they were going to fall from her head.

Next, to her, the girl's own eyes disappeared behind fat tears that invade her face. Someone made a hurtful noise, from the back of their throat. The moan reminded me of a wounded animal.

The lady started calling for the Maester, whatever that was, and I find myself falling in a blissful unconsciousness. And neither Arya's panicked cries or the lady's shrilling voice manage to keep me awake.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

As I was saying, my first memory of this life is quite strange. What followed was even more strange.

As I think about it, it shouldn’t have surprised me. I didn’t have any memory of any sort of what happened before this. The fall as I call it. I was a girl, a child scared and alone surrounded by strangers and unknown faces that seemed to know me. They knew me while I didn’t know myself. I wasn’t even sure of my name.

I didn’t dream, while I was unconscious. I closed my eyes and everything was dark for some time. Dark and heavy against my head, like I was wrapped in a cloud that stuffed his way up to my brain, going through my mouth in the process.

When I woke up, I was still dizzy, but it didn't hurt anymore. Not at first. I opened my eyes and everything around me was dark. Dark rocks for a wall, dark furs, dark chimney, dark room. I noticed a window to my right, and the outside world was just as dark. Night?

I didn't dare move, the fresh memory of the pain in my body preventing me from doing anything. I keep breathing, looking at the ceiling, dark wood. Soon, someone moved close to me. I noticed a flash of dark grey and the clinking of some chains.

“Lady Kyria?”

The voice was old. I try to talk, but my voice was stuck in my throat. Something must have made him aware of my state, as an old face soon came above me. Small intelligent eyes looked right in mine. His face was ripped like an old apple and some white hair still stood in his head. I gasped, not expecting this face to look at me from this close. When he smile the wrinkles around his mouth were even more apparent.

“It is good to see you awake child," he said with this same old voice.

Had I been able to use my voice I would have screamed. I was scared. Another one who seemed to know me without me knowing who the hell he was. I was tired of it. I wanted answers, I wanted peace. Why can't I know who I am? Why did everybody keep coming close to me without any explanation?

Why did this happen to me?

He must have seen something in my face, as his smile disappears, replaced by a worried frown.

“Is everything all right? Could you tell me what you remember of this afternoon?"

I opened my mouth. No pain. So I tried to talk. To my surprise, my voice came to me without even thinking about it.

“I- I don’t-”

“Do you remember your fall?”

“I- Who are you?”

Something shift again in his face. Sorrow, sadness? It made me even more confused. With a sight, the old man took one of my hands and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Tell me, child, what do you remember?" he asked, not bothering to answer my own question.

Well I didn’t want it to work this way.

“Who are you?” I asked again, my voice more firm.

I vaguely took note of the sound of my own voice. It was small, a bit high-pitched. The voice of a child. I moved one of my legs under the fur, feeling the softness of the sheets, the hair of the fur. It felt good, comfortable.

The man didn’t get angry, he smiled at me and talked again. I hoped it was one of the many answers I was looking for.

"Pardon me, my lady, I must look improper to you. I am Maester Luwin, the Maester of Winterfell."

“Winterfell?” I asked.

The named sounded familiar. What was it? Winterfell… Winterfell… A great castle flashed in my mind, grey walls always hot inside. The shape of a great tree inside a small woods, with leaves as red as blood. A great hall with wolves on the walls. Winter is coming. Is it? Where did that come from? Winterfell… Snow. Cold.

“Winterfell… The north.”

The man smiled.

"Yes, exactly. Winterfell the castle of your Family. Do you remember your family?"

"The North," I said again, trying to remember.

"Warden of the North… The seat of Power. Castle of the Stark Family..."

A giant Wolf. The head of a wolf against a white and green background. Winterfell. Stark. This was familiar. Was I linked somehow to those things? Maester of Winterfell. So it means I was in Winterfell?

“Is this place… Winterfell?”

“It is my Lady. You ancestral Home.”

My ancestral home? So it must mean I am a Stark… Was it my full name? Kyria of House Stark?

“Wha- Who am I?” I asked, not knowing how to ask it properly.

I needed answers. This is all I could think about. The face of the old man -Maester Luwin he said- saddened more at my question.

“What do you remember my Lady?” he asked again.

“Nothing. I remember nothing. How much do you think?! I’m not even sure of what my name is, not to mention what I look like! I remember nothing! So answer me Maester by the Gods who am I?!” I snared angered by his incessant questions.

What was he, a parrot? I didn’t know anything about myself how could I be more clear than that?! I sighed, my hands gripped against the furs.

A sharp pain, stabbed my head, making me moan in discomfort. Without really thinking about it I tried to sit on the bed and hold my head with one of my hands.

The world disappeared around me for a minute, and a firm hand put me back against my pillow.

“Stay still my Lady, your head is not healed yet.”

“What happened. Why does it hurt so much?” I whimpered between my teeth.

“You fell my lady, from quite some high.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Your sister Arya had lost a scarf in one of the trees in the Godwoods. You wanted to bring it to her so you climb in the tree. Little lady Arya didn't say much about how you fell, but it seemed the wind and your dress didn't help. You fell on your back, and it appears your head hit the floor violently."

“Godswoods… Heart tree?”

He smiled.

“Yes, the heart tree is in the center of the Godwoods. A sacred place for the Old Gods. Do you remember?"

“I think… maybe? I- I think I remember a face, craved in a tree… and blood-red leaves. I saw red leaves… when I was on the floor."

“It is possible.” I blinked.

As interesting as it was, I still didn’t have my answer.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Pardon? Oh, of course, my apologies, you asked me your name didn’t you?”

“I did," I said, humoring the man who seemed to want to be polite to a fault.

He nodded and readjusted the heavy looking chain around his neck. I eye the chains with interest. I knew there was going to be a chain somewhere. Did I had some memories? I didn't feel like that.

But I knew about the chains… I rub my head with frustration and looked back at the old man with interrogation. He smiled strained.

“My Lady, you are Kyria of Houses Stark and Tully, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard of House Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark of House Tully.”

“Eldest?” I asked, noticing the word.

Did I had siblings? I blinked remembering the little girl. Arya… was it? I remember him mentioning something about a little lady Arya. Didn't he also say she was my little sister? I couldn't recall for sure. Eldest meant I had at least one sibling. It must be the little girl.

“Yes my lady, you are the second child of your family.”

Second child? So I had an older sibling. He said the eldest daughter...so a brother? My head started to hurt again. With a wince, I rubbed my forehead, trying to chase the pain. I tried to search in my brain, for faces, names, any knowledge I could have about my family.

But I could only have this picture, of a great castle and a family sigil. After some more thinking, more things came to me.

Kings of Winter.

Thorren Stark.

Bend the knee… Targaryen.

I knew those things. But what was it? What did it mean? I felt tired, weak. Useless and lost. With a sigh, I dropped my head against the pillows. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know anything, anyone. I was nothing. An empty shell with the face of someone other’s knew. My eyes burned with restrained tears.

"Will you be all right if I let your mother and father visit you?” the Maester asked slowly.

I was about to refuse, but to what point? I had to face them one day… I didn't want to. Not now. If I had a choice I would have rolled over under the fur and hide until the world around me disappear. But I couldn’t do that. I will have to face the reality anyway. Besides, I still had questions.

Under the fear that clogs my throat, I still wanted to understand who I was, what I was in this world. What was my place in this family, this household… And, moreover, the idea of a person to hug away my fears was appealing. I wanted someone to comfort me. Not this old man, as nice as he could be. Someone- A mother? Even if I didn't know her, I thought maybe she knew me. She could- I don't know, try to reassure me. Appease me even… I wasn't even sure of what I wanted.

Without even really thinking about it, I nodded and the old man opens the door. My eyes fell on the lady I saw in the woods. Her eyes were red and puffed, and her face looked even paler than before. A broken sob escaped her trembled lips and she almost throws herself against the bed, gripping my face with her shaking hands.

"Oh, my dear child! My Kyria! How are you? Are you hurt? How is your head? Oh, my love, my darling, darling girl I was so scared!" she said, pulling my head against her shoulder, hugging me like she was afraid I disappear.

I let her manipulate me, not really sure of how I was supposed to greet this woman, unknown but somehow familiar.

“Maester Luwin, How is she?” asked a strong voice, tensed.

I looked past the lady -my mother- shoulder. A tall man stood in front of Maester Luwin. His hair was black, his skin white, but darker than the lady. His shoulder looked strong. His eyes were as grey as steel, intense. He looked strong, powerful. My father? Eddard Stark had said the Maester.

As I blinked, for a second I thought I saw something. Light shining in the Lord's hair. A yellow one, like candles. I rubbed my eyes against the lady's shoulders and the light disappeared.

“My Lord, My lady.” said the Maester, his voice serious. The Lady- Mother, looked at him without letting go of me for a second.

"What is it Maester? What's the matter with our daughter? Is she all right?"

“I can not say for sure yet, as her fall happened only this afternoon, but I am afraid the young Lady suffer from a loss of memory.”

“A loss? But of what memories?”

“I am not certain yet, but, the young Kyria told me she couldn’t remember anything. Not even her own name.”

The lady strangled her own sob and buried her head in my neck. I didn't move, unable to tear my eyes from the Maester. I wanted answers.

“Why?”

Both the Lord and the Maester looked back at me. The Lady’s hand run in my hair.

“Why what Kyria?” rumbled the voice of the man.

He looked at me with sadness in his light eyes. Before I could respond to him, he sat behind his wife and took one of my hands. I looked at it for a second. It was large strong and deeply calloused. The fingers ended shortly like someone had cut them right as they grew, the tip flat and as hard as the rest of his skin at this place. The Lady shifted, and took his other hand, pulling her elegant back against my pillows, and pulling me with her. Her own hand had nothing to do with the Lord's. She was small and delicate, almond-shaped nails as pink as a flower with soft skin everywhere. Lady's hands I presumed.

Did I already think about that? I couldn't recall…

I blinked refocussing my attention on what was happening. Answers. I wanted answers.

“Why did I lost my memories?”

The Maester took his time thinking, before talking. I bit back a frustrated sigh.

“Well, when you fell from that tree, your head hit the floor as I said. It seemed that the shock caused by this, generate a wound inside your head, in your brain. Like a bump, we couldn't see. This wound caused your memories to disappear."

“Will she get them back?” Maester hesitated.

"I can not say for sure. Those wounds are difficult to treat or even diagnose as we can't see what is happening inside her head. It is not the first time we see something like that happening my Lord. But each patient is different. We can never predict what part of the brain will be affected. I could be memories like it is the case here, or it could be the tongue, or the sight, even the area that controls our movement. The wound can resorb itself or never heal. She could recover very quickly, or she could never have them back. The head is the hardest part of the body to heal.”

“Oh by the gods” whined the lady, while holding me closer to her breast.

The Lord drops his head and rubbed his eyes, looking tired and grim. My own heart stopped in my chest for a minute. As if it knew we were talking about it, the pain in my head shown again, making me hiss between my teeth.

I looked again at the Maester, as he came to me with hast, searching frantically in his long sleeves. He put out some strange looking bottles, one of them whom he pulls some liquid. He tilts my head and made me drink before I could even ask what it was.

“Wh-what was that?” I coughed.

“You’ll feel better soon my lady. But you need rest.” said the old man, pulling his little bottle back in his sleeves.

I looked at the tissue wondering how many things did the man hide in those things. Did he have secret pockets? I felt my eyes blinking weakly, at the face of the man that was supposed to be my father.

Eddard Stark looked back at me, a crisped smile on his lips and chase away a lock of hair from my forehead. I followed the hair with my eyes, wondering what color they had. With the light of the room, they looked red. Were they red ? Or dark brown like the Lord's? I blinked again, refocussing on the Lord who was talking to me.

“You are going to be all right my dear," he said, his voice gentle. " We are going to take care of you."

“I don’t remember you...” I said under my breath, feeling my conscience escaping me.

Whatever it was what the Maester had given me, it made me want to sleep. I repressed a wide yawning that was threatening to escape my lips.

“I know my girl. But you will.”

I wasn't so sure.

I felt like there was something inside my head. A lock or something, that keeps my memory out of my reach. It was stupid, but I felt that I could have look at my mother’s face for hours without any recognition, other than the woman that held my hand as I was laying hurt and scared on the cold floor of the Godwoods.

But, somehow, even if I couldn’t reach my memories, the face of this man, in front of me, felt somehow… familiar. There was something about this face, this voice. Was it my memories?

"We should let her rest." said the Maester. "Her wound will make her suffer for some days still. Wounds in the head are hard to heal," he repeated with a saddened voice.

“But she will? Heal.” asked nervously the Lady.

I will have to start calling her Mother at some point. With some wiggling form me, I managed to turn my head, to look at her. She looked worried. Did she always look like that? I wondered.

“From what I can say, she won’t keep any permanent damage. However, she will need to rest a lot in the following days. With as little stress for her as possible.”

“What kind of stress are you talking about Luwin?” asked Lord- Father, his face turned to the Maester.

“Well, as I said, a wound on the head is difficult to examine, but I can tell from the pain the young Kyria is showing that her wound is not healed yet and any more stress, intense emotion, the distress of any kind is not recommended."

“Will she be able to see visitors?” asked L-mother, her hand still stroking my hair.

It was more difficult for me to follow the conversation as whatever the Maester gave me affect me. My eyes were closing by themselves, and the voices around me seemed weaker and weaker. I didn't like the sensation. I wanted answers still. I knew so few things about myself.

However, it seemed no one cared about my opinion, not even my own body, as sleep caught me before I could hear the answer of Maester Luwin.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Like before, I woke up without any dream to recall. My head was nothing but a black veil that clouded any thought or dream I could have. I woke up in a start, looking alarmingly around me. A timid sun shined through the window. I must have slept all night… My body felt weak and heavy.

My back was sore, a thumping pain keeps reminding me of my situation. I couldn't remember what the Maester had said, but something told me I was going to spend a lot of time in this bed. With hesitation, I carefully moved my head. I was relieved not to feel the urge to empty my stomach on the first thing I lead my eyes on. At least I still had some sort of dignity. That was something.

My new capacity to look around allowed me to observe for the first time my environment. The room was large and obviously inhabited. I noticed a pile of books on the desk, numerous quills, and small bottles. Ink maybe?

A comfortable looking chair on which lay a large piece of fabric, with fur on the edge. Was it a cape? Like the one wore by the great lady of yesterday? She looked smaller also… Was it the cape I wasn’t aware of wearing yesterday? Not far from the desk, there was another chair, with a smaller table, with even more books on it. It looked even more comfortable, with some fur in it, draped like a cover. In front of it, there was a fireplace, without fire, but still.

Against one of the walls, there was a large armoire. Some other furniture, like a convenient and chairs, were disposed around the room. One of them, occupied, as I noticed, by the very same lady I saw yesterday, my Mother. She was doing something with some little branches, and some cord.

“What is it?”

She jumped, and smiled at me, her face lighten by so. I blinked. She was truly beautiful when she smiled. Did I look like her?

“How are you child?” asked the- Mother.

“I- Better I think," I responded with some hesitation.

Technically it wasn't a lie. I did feel better than yesterday. But it didn't mean I felt good. I was weak and lost in a world that was supposed to be mine.

"That is good," she said still smiling.

"Does it hurt anywhere? You must tell me Kyria if you want to heal."

I blushed. How did she know I was about to lie?

“I- My back hurt," I said rather pitifully.

“Your back? And your head? Does it hurt you to too?” I took some time to think.

I didn't want to throw up, I didn't have this annoying pain inside my brain, that kept reminding me of my fall. Ironically, I didn't remember the fall itself. I'm still not sure if this is a good thing or not. All in all, I could say my head didn’t hurt me anymore.

"No, not anymore," I said looking at her in the eyes.

She came closer and caress my face lovingly, a kind smile in her face. I looked at her, without really knowing what to do. Her smile disappears.

"And, what about your memories? Did they come back?" she asked with a low voice.

It was as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear what she was saying. Was she ashamed? Afraid? Of what? I shacked my head, not trusting my voice to carry the answer without trembling. Nothing came back. Not the fall, or what came before.

My head was still dark and clouded with something I couldn’t describe. She smiled again, more crisped.

“It doesn’t matter my dear. They will come back to you, you’ll see.”

“But what if they don’t? What is going to happen to me then?”

The words came out of my mouth before I could realize how scared I was of the mere idea. Her face shifted a bit. A frown, a tic on the corner of her mouth. I wondered what it means.

“If they don’t...then we’ll have to create new ones. I will tell you everything you want to know.” she reassured me, her hand on my cheek. “all you have to do is ask.”

I hesitate for a time. What did I want to know? Well, the answer was simple. Everything. But I had to voice it. With the mess inside my head, how could I do that? I didn't know where to start… Me maybe? Some more question came to me. Maybe I could start with that.

“I- I would like to know about me… who I was...” I said in a small voice.

“What do you want to know exactly," she asked patiently.

“I- I know my name but- I don’t know anything else.”

The lady took her time to think, her blue eyes searching in my face.

"Well you are our second child, Ned and Mine, and our eldest daughter." she started slowly. "Two months ago you celebrate your name day, with a feast and a new horse. A beautiful mare your Uncle Benjen offered you. You named her Hope."

“My name day? How old am I now?”

"Three and ten my sweet. You are still a child."

"And… the others? My brother and-" I didn't end my sentence, not sure of what I wanted to say.

"Well, we have your older brother, of course, Robb who is now five and ten, your little sisters, Sansa who will turn ten in a fortnight and Arya who is nine. Then there is Bran, your second brother, a sweet boy of eight, and our last one little Rickon who is four." she enumerates, a different expression for each of her children.

So there was six of us. I blinked, unease with something. Behind my eyes, I caught a brief glimpse of something white, falling in front of me. Snow. Snow?

“Snow...”

The lady’s face closed up immediately. She moved back and looked at me. For a second, anger overwhelm her, clouding her eyes and deforming her face in a dark frown.

“You remember him?” she snared, her lips rolled up the fang of a wolf.

“Who?” I asked.

“Jon Snow..." she spits, full of contempt.

I blinked again, not really knowing what she meant by that. Who was it?

“Who is Jon Snow?”

The Lady blinked, and the anger vanished. She sighed and took her hand.

“Jon Snow is- Your father disgrace.”

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“Snow- Snow is the name given to the children of the north born out of wedlock," she explained with a pained voice.

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what it meant. Bastard. I had a bastard half brother. Which, now that I thought about it, explained the lady’s anger. Unless it was jealousy. If the boy was born before my oldest brother, then maybe my father was in love with his mother?

_Promise me…_

I blinked and shacked my head. I needed to concentrate.

I didn't dare ask another question about my half brother, afraid to anger the lady again. Instead, I started on another subject.

She told me a lot of things, most of them I can't remember. It was hard to keep track of hat my brain could collect or not. She keeps talking about each of my siblings, how they were, what they liked, disliked. Anything she could think about. Then she talked about the North and Winterfell. About the families, their History. Then she told me about her own family, the Tully.

She spoke for hours. I listened, trying to remember everything I could. I had this thirst for knowing. I thought, maybe if I learn enough things about enough subjects, I won’t feel so lost anymore. It helped a little, to have something to refer too when I thought about my family, myself. But, locked in this room, laying in this bed, I couldn’t do much to familiarize myself to the Keep and its people. Or Wintertown, or anything else.

Not long before lunch, Maester Luwin visited me. He looked at my head, my eyes, and my back. I supposed he tried to diagnose anything that might be wrong about me. I let him do, eying absentmindedly at the window ant the trees I could see from there. Sometimes a crow flew through it, away from the keep. I wondered if it had a message for one or the other of the Houses in the North. I took some time trying to remember every house in the North. I think I had some of them. But things were confusing. When the Maester touched my back I bite back a cry. It hurt still. He noticed -of course, it was kind of why he was here- and spend several minutes applying some kind of paste on my back, torturing me with every one of his touches.

The Maester declare me better than yesterday, just as I said to the lady, but still obliged me to stay in bed, mostly because of my back. Apparently, I had a big bruise on a good portion of my back, large enough to disturb my walk if I ever tried to. and the Maester wanted to be sure it healed a bit before allowing me to move. I suppose I understood that.

Seeing I was alright, the lady decided to quit my bedside to eat with the rest of her family in the hall. She promised to come back later maybe with one of my siblings.

"It is still too soon for you to receive more than one or two visitors young lady." explained the Maester while a handmaiden gave me my lunch. "Your wound at the head is quite recent and might be tender. Any stress could cause more damages."

I didn’t get how seeing people could do any damage to my brain, but again, I didn’t have anything to say about it. It wasn’t me who trained to the art of healing. That said, I couldn’t help but feel thaty the Maester was quite determinate to isolate me inside this room.

“Could I have one of those books at least? I’m bored.” I said, ignoring the complaining tone of my voice.

I sounded like a whining child. I didn’t like that. I had every right to be bored, lain in this bed all day like someone sick. Or dying. Or lazy. I wasn’t sure which one was worse. The old man gave me a book. Something about the old Kings of Winter. Intrigued, I started to read. It was surprisingly fascinating. Apparently, my family ruled the North for centuries.

As Kings First, Since Bran the Builder, the founder of our Family, until Thorren Stark who bend the knee to Aegon I Targaryen to save his people. Thorren Stark.

_Bend the knee… Targaryen._

Kings of Winter Somehow, I felt like I knew this. I seemed familiar. Maybe I should talk about it to the Maester… I keep reading, learning about the next Stark, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North since Thorren Stark the kneeler. The book talked about something else, the Iron Throne.

A shiver ran through my back, awakening the pain for a second. Strange…

Why some things tend to make me react, and not others? Like the Iron Throne or the Snow, but not my sibling's name. I couldn’t even start to understand how this thing worked. What was it, selected knowledge? I could vaguely recover some intellectual knowledge but nothing about my family? How stupid was that! Why should I care from scholar knowledge when my family was far more important!

A small knock on my door brought me back to reality.

«Yes? » The door opened, revealing a slim figure with bright blue eyes and dark red hair, quite similar to the lady. A boy. Older than me, quite tall with long arms and legs. He smiled at me with hesitation. I blinked. Who was he? Was I suppose to know him? Well, now that I thought about it I was supposed to know everyone…

“Hey… Mother said someone else could come to see you… Do you- How do you feel?” he asked, closing the door behind his back.

His voice was smooth and somehow light. I didn’t know why it intrigued me. His face was fair too, the face of a young man, just out of boyhood. He still had some baby fat on his cheek, but with a closer look, I could guess the line of a strong jaw. He was clearly younger than any man I saw until now.

Which shouldn't be that hard as I only really saw Maester Luwin and the Lord... He looked a bit like the Lord, the nose maybe, but much of his face, coloring, and features were very similar to those of the Lady. Everything in this boy screamed youth. Not innocence, but… I couldn’t find a better word.

_Sweet Summer Child_

Yes Maybe… sweet and young as Summer...

"Kyria? Are you all right? Do you- Do you know who I am?" he asked hope in his voice.

Now at the end of my bed, I could look closer at his features. Like the lady, he looked quite good. In a pretty kind of way that seemed to be from young boys before they become men. Some shy supple was hardly trying to cover his jaw, without much of a success.

As I looked, I blinked again. For a second another image came in front of his face. The same, older, with a read beard and longer hair. Beautiful lock, curling in front of fierce eyes. I blinked again and it disappeared.

What was that? Did I just… imagine him older? Why would I do that? I frown in confusion. No, no. I couldn't let myself be distracted by this kind of things. I must concentrate on the instant. Whom could he be?

Think, think.

Robb.

Robb? Was he? Could he?

“Are you… Robb?” He smiled, his teeth shined brightly on his face.

“Yes. How did you know? Do you remember?”

“No I- The L-” I signed. It was difficult to call her mother. It shouldn't be! “Mother talked about you. All of you, I mean, this morning. I know I have only one older brother. You looked tall. So I guessed you were Robb.” Robb’s smile disappeared a little.

"Well, technically you have two older brothers. We have a half brother, Jon Snow. He is four and ten."

“Oh...” I said, not knowing what to answer to this.

At least that answered my previous interrogation on the subject. Robb sat close to my legs and rubbed the fur that covered them. He looked at me concerned.

“So… tell me how do you feel?” I bite back a harsh comment, as I didn't want to vex him.

But I started to feel tired of hearing the same question. Why did they need to ask? How should I feel without any memories of my life? Apart from what I seemed to have learned in books as it seemed.

“Tired to hear the exact same question from everyone who dare come to see me. Which is you and the- Mother.”

“The Mother?" he asked perplexed. "You mean Mother?" a smile slowly made his way on his face. "I'm pretty sure Mother will take that as a compliment. You compare her to one of the Seven."

I blushed in embarrassment.

“Don’t mock me you! I just- I call her the lady in my head.”

“Why? She’s our mother.”

“Yes but-” I sighed. “She’s one of the first people I saw when I fell from that tree… I called her the lady in my head when I didn’t know who she was. So when she said she was my mother, I keep calling her like that.”

Robb frown but didn’t say anything else on the matter. He starts talking, answering my questions, and explaining one thing or the other. He talked about our time together, how, as the eldest, the tree of us, Robb Jon and I, grew up together, and were very close. Closer maybe than the rest of our siblings. Along the afternoon, came one of the subjects on which I was the most curious.

“You know, when you had your tenth name day we had the same height." he starts telling me a fond smile on his face. "It was during that time that Father starts to bring me with him everywhere. Training me to be the next Lord of Winterfell. And you liked to spend time with us, you've always loved to learn, about everything you could put your hands on. You cry for an entire afternoon so you could come with us." I felt red in my cheeks, embarrassed by the idea of a childish brat instead of myself. Was I that annoying? "the lords were convinced you and I were twins. Some of them still think so even today."

That grabbed my attention. Twins? I ignored the other shiver that ran through my back, concentrating on the conversation. Why Twins? Twins are born the same day, aren't they? We weren't… So why? Did it mean I look like him?

“Do I… look like you?” He looked back at me, questions in his eyes.

"Well yes we-" he stopped, looking closely at my expression. "you don't know what you look like," he said, more like an affirmation than a question.

I nodded, not wanting to put words in it. It was embarrassing enough as it was without me trying to justify my lack of knowledge about my own self. How could I have known, for me it was as if my life started yesterday. With a pale sky and a sharp pain. Without any word, Robb grabs something on one of the dresser and came back to me, a small mirror in his hand.

I took it from him and looked at it. I met my own eyes for the first time. I had blue eyes. Like the lady, and Robb. Fair skin that reminded me of milk or snow, if not a sickly child. I had dark red hair, quite similar to Robb’s in fact. We had the same nose, the same eyes. Maybe even the same lips. The second thing I noticed was my hairs. I had very, very long curled hair. Longer than the lady’s who already were quite long. I touched the tip curiously.

How didn’t I noticed this sooner? They were everywhere around me.

“What is it?”

“I have- long hair...” He laughed.

“That you are! Nobody can touch your hair without suffering your wrath. Well except Rickon but I suspect is it because he’s still young. You’ll probably start to snap at him soon.” he said brightly.

I snorted a laugh, amused by the picture he was painting about me. He laughs with me, then looked back at me.

“What?”

“Nothing, just- I'm glad you're alright."

I smiled. I was too. He stayed with me for maybe another hour, making me laugh with some faces he made in the mirror then someone else knocks at the door.

The lady entered with my permission. She looked at Robb first, then at me.

“Is everything all right there?"

“Yes, Mother. I was just… showing Kyria what she looked like."

“Oh?” said the lady, looking back at me.

More precisely at my hands. I let go of the mirror and started to twist my fingers nervously. Th- Mother looked back at my face, and smile.

“And what do you think of your appearance my dear?” I shrugged and twisted one of my locks.

“I look like Robb… and you too.”

"That you do my child." she smiled.

" Robb, your Father wants to see you. You apparently missed a lesson with him." Robb’s face lost all of its colors as he looked at me alarmed. I snorted. That face was much better than any other he tried before.

“Well, I'll see you later sister!" He flew the room like he was chased by his Father’s shadow.

Watching him almost falling or crashing against the opposite wall while he passes the door snatched a laugh from me. Hearing the pained moan that raisonate somewhere on the corridor made me laugh even more. 

Mother smiled too and looked at me.

“How are you feeling?”

Really tired to hear always the same fucking questions. Was I going to say that to her? No. I still had some survival instinct, despite how messed up was my brain.

“I- Yes.”

“Good." she sat where Robb was minutes before, and put on a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Maerys is going to give you your meal. Do you want to have company tonight? I can stay with you until you fall asleep." she proposed.

I thought about it. It was quite tempting, but I already spend a good amount of time with her. With Robb too. I haven’t been left alone since I woke up… Or barely. I needed to think. To understand how my mind worked.

“I- I'll rather be left alone. I need- I think I need time to… to understand how all of this work" I said pointing my head. The lady looked disappointed but nodded. “I'll come to see you after dinner then."

… Well, the left alone part apparently had a limited amount of time allowed. Great.

Something in the lady's expression forbids me to deny her that. She didn't look like she was going to accept a no. So I nodded and watched her go.

A small girl with brown hair gave me my food and left without a single word. I ate everything she gave me. Some meat pie with beans and a small little cake. With a bow on it… I curiously put the bow away and took a bite of the thing. Hm. Lemon cake. Why put a bow on a lemon cake? Strange… Still, the cake was good.

And since I was alone, I ate it before the rest. I was bedridden without any memories, I could do what I wanted with my food! The girl came back maybe half an hour later, took what was left from my dinner and with a quick bow, flew the room. Did I do something to her?

The la- Mother came back shortly after. She sat next to me and asked me about Robb. What we talked about, how I found him. She looked awkward for most of the questions as if she didn't know what to do with me. Or how to talk to me. Maybe I could try? If this woman was my mother, I had to know how to talk to her.

The thing was… I had no idea of what I was supposed to say to her… Maybe I could talk about us? The children I mean… She seemed to like it earlier. I rub my forehead with one hand. I thought way too much about it, and my brain didn't seem to agree with so much brainstorming.

“Are you hurt? Is it your head darling?” said t- Mother her warm hand immediately on my head. I nodded without saying it.

I was tired of this situation.

“I'm calling Maester Luwin. You need rest," she said standing up. She left the room. I sighed and pulled back against my pillow. Good gods… what a day. I didn't leave this bed one second but I felt like I spend the entire day running everywhere.

Were all my days going to be like this one? I didn’t even feel like I did much. But I guess the tiredness was more due to my mind than anything else. I had a tone of thing to think about after today… My eyes were suddenly heavy. With a sigh, I close them, just one minute or two. Just enough to rest them a little.

Maybe I could read the rest of my book later… I fell asleep without thinking about it. This night, I dreamed for the first time. And how did I miss the darkness of my previous rest...

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_Something is hot above me. The light is almost blinding. I blinked and try to see what was around me. My feet. I was bare feet on the dirt. Not the same dirt than the one I saw on my fall. It was lighter. Dry? It felt dry on my feet._

_Where am I? I blinked. There was… people around me. In front of me. I only see their back, they move around me._

_But something is wrong._

_“_ _What’s happening?”_

_My voice resonates in the place. I blinked again. Why did it do that? Why was- The noises! There wasn't any noise. That what was wrong._

_I blinked again and decided to walk. Everyone around me was going in the same direction, stomping in the crowd like with something like trepidation._

_Suddenly, the noises were back. Hundred of voices speaking at the same time, howling, screaming, crying with rage. They were everywhere. The light became brighter, and I had to close my eyes._

_“TRAITOR!”_

_What was that? Traitor? Where? I looked around, searching in the crowd for an explanation._

_My eyes fell on the person just behind me…. No face._ _This thing had no face. Nothing. A blank, the same color than paper._

_Like the rest of the thing's body and clothes._

_All blank, and white._

_I took a step back and bumped in another one. It looked at me._

_No face. No nose, no mouth, no eyes. Nothing. A moan escaped my throat as I tried to step out of this horrible crowd. No one had a face._

_“KILL HIM!” “_

_TRAITOR!”_

_“TRAITOR TO THE CROWN!”_

_What? The crown? The King? What happened here? Someone else bumped me, forcing me to walk. I did it. I ran to the front._

_Maybe this way I could escape them._

_My heartbeat was fast. My breath harsh. I want to go out of this thing._

_Out. Out. Out._

_Quickly._

_Something pushed me._

_Then there was no sound._

_Then a bell ring._

_The sound seemed far from me._ _Far but strong._

_Then I wasn’t on the dirt anymore. I was on something that felt like a rock. A dark rock. I stood up._

_Peoples. In color. *_

_No faces. But faces. The roar of a beast, on the back of my perception. Powerful but far. Menacing. I didn’t see but I did. Blond hair, fair skin. Beautiful. Like anything I ever saw._

_They looked at something._

_Another one of those things._

_Was it a prisoner? It had its hands behind its back. I looked at the people again. Beautiful face._

_A beautiful woman with golden hair. A beautiful boy with golden hair. And a golden crown._

_He’s smiling. The blank beige Boy had a smile on his blank face._

_The boy is happy. Satisfied. Why Satisfied?_

_“TRAITOR!” He raised a hand._

_The cries stopped. His mouth opened._

_Worm lips. Why worm lips? I was too far to see that._

_Worm… Why worm on a face that pretty?_

_“Bring me his head!”_

_The woman moved to the boy. The thing behind the other thing, the one attached, made it kneel._

_I blinked. Execution? The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

_No._

_That is not what was happening._

_TRAITOR TRAITOR TRAITOR TRAITORTRAIROTRAITORTRAITOR_

_**KILL HIM!** _

_T_ _he head fell. It rolls. And roll. And roll._

_The white of the thing colored with blood. Blood red blood. And it keeps rolling. Hair wet with blood. Brown hair. Dark hair. Skin. White. Whiter than the boy. Whiter than the woman. “_

_NOOO! NOO PLEASE NO! NO STOP!”_

_Who is that?_

_“STOP IT! STOP PLEASE!”_

_“Baelor.”_

_“NO!”_

_Don’t look.”_

_“_ _STOP IT! PLEASE STOP!”_

_“NO!”_

_Dark hair. Light skin. And the head roll. And roll. My hands are shaking._

_But I don’t move. I can’t move. The head hadn’t stopped yet._

_It is still rolling. I can’t move while it roll. Dark hair. Light skin._

_Finally, it stopped. Right in front of me, It has a face now. I know that face. Dark hair. Light Skin. Grey eyes. Father._

_“Father?”_

_“NO PLEASE! STOP IT! YOU PROMISED! MERCY!”_

_“You said you’ll show mercy.”_

_“This! This is your father’s head! Just right there! Look at him! LOOK AT HIM!”_

_“Father...”_

_Father..._

_“NO!"_

_“FATHER! FATHER!”_

_Father. Father, father. Father. FATHER!_

“KYRIA!”

I woke up. Scream in my mouth and tears in my cheeks. Father! Father! Someone is holding me. Someone is looking at me.

Dark hair. Light skin. Grey eyes. I scream again. It talks.

“Shh shh, Kyria, Kyria, it’s over. It’s over.” the head said.

And the head move. And hold me against a torso. A torso and a neck. Attached to the head. “Father!” I beg, gripping the tissue of his night clothes.

“It's alright Kyria. It's alright. Everything is all right. I close my eyes, hidden against Father’s neck.

The pulse is beating here. He’s alive.

Alive.

“Father” I moan again, pathetically.

He hushed me again, his hand caresses my hair.

"What happened?" asked someone behind him.

I don’t know the voice. I sob louder.

"It's all right children. Go back to bed." said another one.

I know this one. Mother. The lady.

"But what happened? Is she all right?" Robb.

"It was a nightmare Robb. Go take care of your brothers," said Father's voice.

His voice resonates against my forehead.

Alive.

Alive.

I heard footsteps. Then a closed door. Another form sits on the bed, and a soft hand gently touched my cheek.

“Oh my love...” sighed Mother’s voice.

I sobbed harder.

"It's alright my dear I'm here. I'm right here." hushed Father "everything's going to be fine. My sweet little wolf."

I sobbed for a long time.

Gripped to my father’s clothes. He didn’t complain, not once. Mother stayed too. After some time, I felt her head against my head. I resist as long as I could.

But I fell asleep there. Between my parents. I didn't dream again that night. But, something inside me keeps telling me that it wasn't over. Far from it.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2: The Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we have strange dreams, even stranger visions and a worried family...  
> Well, sounds like fun to me ;)
> 
> Little bonus! Enter the sweet brother :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the more attentives around you you may have notice a mistake on my part xD I was convinced the change of point of view appeared later in the story. Obviously it don't XD.  
> Anyway mistake corrected ^^' Silly me!
> 
> Enjoy your reading!

**Year 296 A.C eighth to tenth month.**

**Kyria**

The first night, it was just a nightmare. A nightmare that came twice in the same night. But still, a nightmare.

The second time the Maester gave her something to sleep. He said he faired the pain in her back. So he gave her some milk of the poppy. She sleeps through the morning. She spends her day with her books and the warm presence of her mother who feeds her of stories of her House, her home, her family. Of everything, she could think of. She spends her day blinking away strange words and images that keep touching the edge of her line of thought. But they came anyway.

Later on that evening, she met her sisters. Red-haired little Sansa with pretty face and dreamy eyes, and fierce little Arya with sharp teeth and bleeding heart. The little one spends one good hour apologizing for her part in her fall, as it was her scarf that had started everything.

Kyria didn't really blame her. If she was stupid enough to climb a tree by a windy day with her heavy skirt and cape, it was her own fault before anyone's else.

She spends a good time with them. Not very at ease with the admiration, she could gather in both the girl's innocent eyes, but they were sweet. Even if Sansa’s voice send sometimes a cold chill on her back.

But it was nothing. Only a nightmare. She tried to blink it away.

Then the night came.

For Kyria Stark, the first time was a nightmare. Nothing more. The second one was a hazard. For she couldn't bear it being anything else.

**OoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoO**

_Laugh. Gasp. Cry._

“ _WE NEED TO SPEAK LOUDER!”_

_She’s in a room. Large and full of silhouettes. All white and faceless. Like sheep in the lands. All the same and all following one same direction. The one their master send them too she supposed. But who was the master?_

_LOUDER! LOUDER!_

_As she thought, cries, screams resonate around her. Only one voice sound distressed. The others whispers in her hear. Sweet sound without any word. The sound of a good flock of sheep._

_A_ part _of the room is higher than the rest. There's something in it. It looks like a boy. But it looks like a beast. Ugly with an enormous head, and sharp teeth and ugly fingers melted with something that looks like gold. Worm lips around sharp teeth. But the teeth look strange. Not small but fragile. Not as strong as they look. The eyes are huge and veined with an angry red trait. Blood-eyes. Angry eyes. Hungry eyes._

_There’s the sound of a sword. Metal hitting something. Something soft. Fragile. And another cry. Red splashed the floor. Angry red. Hungry eyes._

_The beast laugh. The voice is harsh. The voice is boyish. A child._

_Hungry eyes of a child._

“ _I beg you please!”_

“ _Killing you would send your brother a message.” said the beast._

_Who’s the suppliant? Who’s the brother?_

_Something shifted in front of him. The beast with Hungry eyes. A little creature with chained wings and a pretty face. Big blue eyes full of tears seems to look right at Kyria for one second._

“ _Leave her face. I like her pretty”_

_Then a shadow eats the little thing. Draw a big sword and hit the little thing. Again. And again. And again. And the things cry and cry._

_And the monster smile with his wormy lips and sharp fragile teeth. It smiles as blood splashed against the floor._

“ _Unburden her.”_

_And the shadow, almost as ugly as the beast, tear apart the little thing's feathers. Leaving angry red flesh and blood._

_And it keeps beating. Again and again._

_Hungry eyes. Angry eyes. Blood on the floor. And cry on her ears._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoO**

Kyria woke up with tears in her eyes. But this time, she’s alone. She blinked and try not to think of what she saw. Of the monster on the room and the little thing with teary blue eyes.

She almost forgot it, until Sansa come to see her the day after. With her pretty face and just as pretty eyes. Kyria blinked away any thought she could have on the matter.

Hazard.

Then the third night came. And the night after. And the one after. And it couldn't be a hazard. Not every time. Night. Days. The thought and the dreams came back.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_He's proud. He's tall. He's great. He's young. The grey wolf in the room. He smiled and drink. He feast. He looks after his mate, heavy with his pup. He looks at the room and he's proud._

_He's beautiful. The Wolf King. He's big and grey with a heavy crown on his hairy head. He's the first. The first in three hundred years. His country believes in him._

_He’s tall, he’s proud. Proud. Proud._

_Proud._

_And who are you, the proud lord said_

_That I must bow so low?_

_He's proud, he's great, he's good. He's the best anyone can get. The mother looks at him with pride in her eyes. His army feast around him, happy and confident. Confidence. Something is not right with this word. Kyria tries to blink it away, as she does for the dream. It doesn't go away. She can't ignore the dreams._

_And the wolf is proud. Great. Good. Happiness around him, in his army, with his men._

_But all around the room, small black eyes follow the proud king. Mean black small eyes. Ugly eyes._

_Only a cat of a different coat,_

_That’s all the truth I know._

_The king loses his smile first. Then a slimy little creature, dirty and ugly, put a knife in his mate’s pregnant belly. And pull it out. And in. And out. And in. And this is no howl that comes out of her mouth, but the cry of a woman, losing her child. Losing her life._

_She screams and screams and screams. And the King's crown cracks on the top of his head._

_Blood splashed the floor. Again and again. A puddle, on the woman’s feet. That grow and grow. Then, the blood starts to flows. Like water. Thicker than water. But liquid still._

_Like water._

_A river, larger and larger that invade the hall, and swallow the mate._

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

_A lion still has claws,_

_Blood splashed on the floor. At the handsome king feet. The handsome Wolf with his crown who's suddenly so fragile. Blood splash on the king’s face. His? Maybe. A puddle on his feet. That grows and flows._

_Mean eyes are numerous. Mean eyes of equally mean creatures. Screaming, with glee and drinking the blood that splashes like a pack of starved scavengers. And they kill, they shoot they tear throats apart. Flesh and blood splash the floor. More more, always more. Kill them, kill them all. All of the proud King’s army. All of the proud’s King Victories. Tear them apart. Like the flesh of your last kill._

_Come on. Again. More. More More. Again. Again. Until no one stands proud anymore!_

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_

_As long as sharp as yours._

_The wolf look. Dazed. But he's no wolf anymore. A man. With a handsome face, dark red curls and a crown on his head. The King looks dazed. But he's not a king anymore._

_Only a man._

_And the ferret around him keeps killing. Everyone they see. The men, the women. Everyone. And then, come the mother. Madness in her eyes, and knife in her hand. Her teeth are sharp suddenly. Something between a fish and a wolf. Fierce and desperate. The Handsome King mother._

_The Mother._

_A knife on the throat of someone. Talking begging. But another man come. Ugly and old. With mean eyes. Meaner than all the others. Older. Hungrier. A man?_

_Flesh. Flesh and angry icy eyes. It’s all she can see. Hungry eyes._

_So so Hungry._

“ _Mother”. Said the handsome King._

_The king kneels a knife through his heart. And the woman scream._

_And so he spoke, and so he spoke,_

_The lord of Castamere,_

_But now the rain weep o’er his hall,_

_With no one there to hear_

_The king fall, look at his wife. His love. Look at what he lost._

_"You lose your crown the day you married her."_

_Why Kyria wants to ask. But she can't. Because the blood still weeps o'er this hall. And everyone can see. And she can see. The blood through the wall. And the river at her feet. The blood that licks her feet, and nightdress._

_She wants to speak. But she can't. The King falls. She can't move, speak, react because the King falls. His crown broke loudly on the floor, half ate by the blood river._

_He falls. He falls and he dies. Outside, another cry echoed. A small voice. Full of rage, grief._

_So close. That was so close. If only she’d been quicker. If only she had the time. If only she had the strength._

_Yes now the rain weep o’er his hall_

_And not a soul to hear._

_And the mother scream, and scream, her face ugly with tears and grief. And the river swallows the handsome King._

_Her knife rips the throat out. And another knife rips hers. Her eyes are dazed. She looks at the ceiling. Relief. Maybe?_

_It’s over. She’ll be with them again._

_Will she?_

_Yes now the rain weep o’er his hall_

_And not a soul to hear._

_No. It’s not right. It’s not the right words..._

_This one, they heard it. How could they not?_

_THE KING IN THE NORTH! They laugh._

_THE KING IN THE NORTH!_

_And as the river swallows the mother, Kyria stood in the hall, blood up to her knee. A silent cry in her mouth. As she watches the river eat her mother, with her brother._

_Blood splash on the floor. On the walls of the hall._

_And now the rain, weep o’er his hall…_

_No…_

_And now the blood splashes through those walls…_

_For every soul here to feel._

_Yes. It is not Rain anymore._

_Was it rain before? Kyria can’t tell. She can’t think. The blood of the river kept wetting her feet._

**OoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoO**

She didn't talk the day after that one. She curled around her own legs and didn't say a word. She didn't cry either. Her eyes locked on the wall. She spends a good amount of time thinking the wall was red. For all of his grey glory.

Inside her head, there was this tune. The tune of the song. She couldn’t blink it away. She hummed it more than once. Alone with her grey walls.

The song about the rain. Was it rain?

At some point, someone came to her. Not mother, who keep coming in and out of the room with her worried expression and her pale face each time she hears the tune Kyria is humming. Not Father, busy as he is doing his duty. Not her brother, with his father. Not her sisters at their own lessons.

None of them. Someone else. A boy with long limbs and a slim figure. With coal dark hair and white skin. With dark eyes, grey eyes, and full lips, and a sweet face. So very sweet. So very sad. He doesn't talk. He opens his mouth once. Maybe twice. But nothing comes out of it. He simply looks at her. She looks back. Take his locks, his face, his posture. She looks and she knows.

Jon Snow.

Kyria blinked. His face changed for one second. A scar on his forehead, above one eye. A beard on his face. Hair pulled back. Solemn look. Grave eyes. Sad eyes.

But then he was young again, and Kyria chased the red from her eyes.

He keeps looking at her. Something like understanding in his eyes. It angered her. How could he understand? She didn't! And it happened to her! Not him! He couldn’t even start to comprehend what was happening right now.

She couldn’t. She didn’t.

_Blood splash on the floor._

She didn’t talk. She shacked her head and buried in her fur. A hesitant hand touched her head. So quickly she could have imagined it. She did that enough recently. He stayed for some time, then pressed her hand in his and left with a sad smile.

Always a sad smile.

“How do you feel today my lady?” asked the Maester.

She didn't answer. She blinked and chased the red. She looks at the old man, curled in her bed. The man sighed and give her something. She fell asleep not long after.

She woke up once, just before dinner. The girl, Maerys, gave her food. Without looking or talking to her. Kyria didn’t pay her any attention. She ate, and roll back on her bed. She slept again.

With sleep came the dream.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_The things I do for love._

_Great beast. Fierce and strong. It walks on a dark path. Darker and darker as he walks._

_His paw found a river. No, a Lake. He swam. He roared. Blood colored the water. The great beast came out of the water. Less fierce. Less strong. Something lost. He doesn't walk fast anymore. He doesn't look proud anymore. But still, he walks._

_He loses something deep in the water. What is it?_

_His vision? His trust? His determination? His strength?_

_No. Not the strength… something else._

_The strength was still here._

_The beast curled in a corner. Flames in his eyes. Red flames. Green flames. Flames everywhere. Eating everything. His hopes. His happiness. His pride. His strength? No…, not the strength._

_Something else..._

_"The same thing he keeps saying for hours."_

_What did he say for hours? Someone said something. What is it?_

_The beast keeps walking. Lonely and sad. A great cave swallowed him. He came out running. Running and running. He runs and he roars. The great beast. With blood falling from him. But he keeps going. He runs. He walks._

_He looks scared. Is he? Of what?_

_Oathkeeper._

“ _I swear a vow. I intend to keep it.”_

_Dark shadow grips him. Sharp nails. Poisoned voice._

“ _The same person. The same soul. We belong together.”_

_Sweet voice. Beautiful voice. White skin, golden hair, beautiful face. Beautiful. Beautiful. Oh so beautiful. So much beauty. So so much._

_But something is missing._

_The beast keeps walking. The shadow on his back, gripping him, taking something. His strength? No… Not the strength. His pride?_

_No. He already lost His pride._

_His soul?_

… _Maybe. The shadow is taking something. But she’s so beautiful. Monstrous._

_Beautiful face, awful heart._

“ _The things I do for love.”_

_Was it love? Did she shadow gave love? Was it why she took something from the beast?_

_No. Not love. The beast has it. But he's keeping it. Why? Why not?_

_But the beast keeps walking. Alone in the dark path. Darker and darker. Awful shadow gripped on his back. Dominating him._

_Good boy. Good pet. Good Monster._

_Good beast._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoO**

She doesn't always understand this. Sometimes it's obvious. Generally when death is involved. But other times, the dream talk about something. Or someone maybe… Something who isn't always linked with death, or tragedy.

She doesn’t understand those ones. They are too confused.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoO**

“ _I did warn you not to trust me.”_

_Said the man with the bird. Or the bird of a man. Is it? A bird? A man? What is this thing? Is it something?_

_A slimy thing. An ugly thing with pretty feathers. Slimy ugly thing. With big hands and long fingers. Long long fingers that shadows everything around the man. Big fingers with even bigger shadows._

_It’s touching everything. Every place._

‘ _Trust me. Trust me. Let me betray you. I want it. I want it all. I’ll have it all. Trust me. Trust me. Come on trust me. You know you want it._

_Trust me. You'll trust me. Everyone trusts me. you’ll do too. One day. I’m trusting. Comforting._

_I’m strong. I’m smart._

_You’ll love me. I’ll make you. You’ll see. I couldn’t have her. I’ll have you. You’ll see._

_You’ll see.’_

_Sweet voice. Smooth and soft. Slimy little snake. Slimy snake with long fingers. Long fingers wrapped around the little thing's neck. Sweet little red thing with blue eyes._

_And Kyria knew those eyes._

“ _I did warn you not to trust me.”_

“ _Sansa… Sweet Sansa” bark the dog._

_Sansa? What does he want with her sister? Why would a dog whisper her sister's name?_

_Sick dog with white foam on its lips. Sharp claw rips the little thing in pieces. Sick dog with mad eyes._

“ _My lady Wife...”_

“ _WATCH!”_

“ _NO! STOP IT! STOP STOP!”_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Her scream was stuck in the pillow in her mouth. But someone still heard it. Not Father, or Mother this time. Robb climb into her bed, his long arms wrapped around her shoulders. Without so much of an effort, he pulls her head against his neck. His own cheek on her hair.

He hushed her repetitively, his voice not louder than a whisper against her hear.

She didn’t hear much of what he said. He talked to her. Reassurance maybe… She couldn’t tell.

She didn't sleep. He did. She spends the night listening to his breathing. To the beating of his heart.

When she closed her eyes, the red river was back, and the handsome Wolf was stabbed again. And again. And again.

She cried again. He didn't wake up. Robb was a heavy sleeper. Thanks the gods.

She must have sleep, at one point. When she woke up, Jon was there too. Sitting at the edge of the bed. He smiled at her. Robb was still wrapped around her.

“How are you?” asked Jon.

He had a sweet voice. Higher than Robb’s. More like a child’s voice than a man. He was younger.

She didn’t talk. She looked at him, and tears fell from her eyes.

_The King's heart pierced with a knife. The mother's throat slotted._

“ _WE NEED TO SPEAK LOUDER”_

Robb moved and wrapped his arms firmer around her shoulders.

“Shh. It’s all right Kyria.”

The boys stayed with her for a long time. They were only chased by Lady Catelyn’s hard gaze.

“Did he bothered you my girl?" asked the Lady.

Kyria blinked. He?

Oh. Jon. Bastard. Yes, Mother hated the idea of a bastard in her home. A bastard from her husband none less.

Kyria had an opinion on the matter of course. But she could dare voice it. Besides, it was no business of hers what was her mother's opinion regarding her half brother. Who was she to judge that? She couldn't.

She was way more worried about her own situation.

But what was it? Her situation.

She didn’t talk much that day either. But she read. All day. Hoping that maybe she could get answers somewhere in those books.

She didn’t.

After the first week, her dreams began to haunt her days.

Mother came to her one day, little Rickon in her arms.

The boy happily cuddles her with all the strength of his little arms. Kyria welcomed her with a smile and let his warm little form bury itself in the fur.

"Bran wanted to come too," said Mother. "But the Maester think you still need rest. He’ll come later today. We don’t want-”

Mother cut herself before she could say anything else. But Kyria understood. She was talking about her state. Kyria still hadn’t left her room, and didn’t talk much since… Since the beginning.

Kyria didn't say anything and chased away any picture that could have clouded her mind.

As if to prove her wrong, her vision suddenly clouded, black invading the corners of her eyes.

She blinked and held her head with one hand.

“Kyria?”

Mechanically, she looked at the boy against her left side. Big blue eyes looked back at her, shiny and innocent. She blinked and didn’t see the boy anymore. Or did she?

“ _We’re gonna play a game boy. See… there? You need to run. As fast as you can. That’s the game. Easy isn’t it?”_

_Run. Run run run. Faster faster. Run boy run. Run.Run Run Run Run Run Run Run Run._

_Run faster, faster. Faster. Always Faster. Close. So close. Closer closer. Not enough. Run boy run._

_RUN_

_**STUMP.** _

_And Die._

Kyria blinked and looked away, sweat covering her forehead. Her breath locked in her throat.

No. Not in the middle of the day… Not while she’s awake…

“Are you alright dear?”

“Yes… yes, I'm fine," she responded without looking at the Lady.

Rickon mumbled something and bury his head against her nightdress. Mother nip her lips, her eyes not letting go of Kyria’s.

Kyria held Rickon for as long as the boy allowed it. He looked at her with his big adoring eyes and chipped happily how much he missed her. She smiled. Tensely and kiss his head.

The boy's smile almost erases the blood that splashed the hard floor.

Almost.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The next time, it was with Bran. The last of her sibling. The same day.

The boy came alone, his dark eyes huge and innocent. Looking at her with the same childish adoration she already noticed in the youngest’s eyes.

The innocent love of a child for his sister.

“Kyria?” asked his shy little voice.

"Bran," she answered.

She blinked and his face disappeared.

_A boy sat in front of a tree. A large white tree with blood-red leaves. He sat, wrapped in heavy furs. Alone in his chair. He looks at the tree. Snow falls around him. But he didn't move. He sat. He looks at the tree._

_Is he?_

_He doesn't look. No. He has no eyes._

_Only white._

_He blinked. He had eyes._

_A crow scream shakes her. A big black bird that flies suddenly in front of her. She blinked. The tree is black with crows. Just above the boy. She blinked again and the boy looks right at her._

_He looks at her like he sees her. Nobody saw her before in her dreams. She only watched._

“ _You can’t change it Sister.” said the boy. His voice is void of any emotion._

“ _What?”_

“ _I have to stop being Bran Stark. You can’t change it.”_

_What?_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

“Kyria?”

Kyria blinked and Bran was back. The small boy with loving eyes.

“Is everything alright?”

"Y-yes. Sorry. I- yes I'm all right." she answers a bit dazed.

The boy blinked and smile, climbing easily on the bed, a book on his hand. He blushed a little and look at her with hesitation.

“Before- when you….” he blushed harder. “you used to read books with me.”

“Did I?” she asked surprised.

She didn’t know that.

“And what did we use to read?”

“Books about Knight!” he said proudly. “and Kings of the past! Before the Targaryens! Oh and Stories about the Dragons too!”

“I see… quite a lot of subjects.”

He nods and handed the book expectantly.

She took it without any questions. A book about some Knight apparently. Duncan the Tall. Kyria frown at the name, something familiar moving in the back of her mind.

Did she was that name already?

“Bran, did we read that book together?” she asked.

"No. But you read it. Before." he answered while coming closer to her. “you said I might like it.”

Kyria made a little sound with the back of her throat. Was she remembering the book?

Maybe…

They read together for a good part of the day. Until Maester Luwin came to her room, looking for Bran who seemed to want to skip his lessons. She watched him go with a smile on her face.

She tries not to think about it after. The things the saw. She couldn’t even start thinking about it.

She didn’t like thinking about it.

After two full weeks of rest, Maester Luwin allowed her to quit her room. Maerys help her dress in a pretty blue dress and she could finally get out of the damned room.

She spends her first day out with her Mother, almost forgetting about everything that happened to her.

Almost.

She learned to make her way through the keep, the different wings, the places, the rooms. She learned everything she could in one day.

But then the night came and that was it again.

And the night after. And then the day after.

A little bit more than one month after her fall, she started to notice some kind of pattern with those dreams.

She dreamed always at most once per night. Sometimes more, but it was rarer. She quickly learned not to try to prevent her dreams, if she didn't want to spend her day fighting visions and clouded thought with strange images and sound shadowing her mind.

The milk of the poppy helped with the dreams, but she didn't want to use it that much. Because she didn't dream with it. And so she had to spend her days with a clouded mind. However, she took it some times after a particularly hard dream. Like the one with the River. Or the rolling Head. Or every dream with the Mad Dog.

She quickly noticed similar characters in those dreams. They came back. Sometimes the dream was different, but not the character, or even sometimes the situation. It was only, another perspective… Or something like that.

To be frank she didn’t know what to think… She only tried to do her best with what she had.

The thing was if she could almost control her dream at night – or at least she liked to think she could- the vision she had during the day was her wild card.

They happened more and more often, as she gets better, ironically. Sometimes it was nothing else than a couple of seconds during which another image is superimposed on what she sees. Other time it's the entire scene, similar to what she experienced on night.

The first month was a difficult month. At its end, she came to a conclusion. Her nightmare wasn't mere nightmares. It was something else.

The second month was worse. Because she started to think about what that meant. And the answer wasn’t good.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Jon**

Jon Snow was worried.

It was a common occurrence recently. He sometimes felt like he always was worried. For his sister mostly. For himself sometimes. For his family.

For many things in truth.

But mostly for Kyria.

It wasn't her fault, he knew that. How could it be? And despite everything she had to say on the matter, it wasn't Arya's fault either. But he couldn't say things hadn't changed since the day Kyria Stark fell from that Tree.

Everyone had been on edge for days after that. Worried that the fall, quite impressive apparently, had damaged something inside of Kyria's head. Something that could have changed her. Handicap her for life, or even kill her. In a way it did, change her. She forgot everything. Everyone.

He could never forget the heartbroken sob Arya made when she learned about this. She spends her evening and night buried in his fur, holding his and Robb's hands as if her life depended on it. Jon had ignored the suspicious moist in his brother’s eyes and Robb did the same. It was a sad evening.

The first time he came to her, he didn't know what to say. How does someone behave in front of someone they knew their whole life while they didn't remember anything. To see the absence of this familiar light in her eyes when she sees him almost made him cry. It felt like she died, and someone else stole her body to live her life.

Disturbing thought…

But after some day, she began to feel more and more like who she used to be. Nice, smart and fierce. Very much like Robb in fact. It kind of amused him, to see that. Robb had always claimed that their similar character had everything to do with Kyria’s desire to be like her perfect big brother. Seeing that unchanged even without her memories kind of cancel this hypothesis.

Some days he could almost think things never changed. But then, someone says something about them, about what they used to be, and this light in her eyes disappeared.

He often wondered how she felt. Lost, for sure. How could she not… It gets a bit better when Maester Luwin allowed her to venture out of her room. But still… she must feel so lost.

To make things a bit worse, everyone looked at her like some kind of precious doll. Like she was going to fell apart in the minute. He wasn't blind to the exasperation she shown sometimes when the servant was particularly delicate with her. Or Maester Luwin, or Septa Mordane. Septa Mordane was the worse of them.

But then, he didn’t like her very much so he wasn’t really objective in the matter.

After some time, things began to work normally again. Other matter came to the servant, or the Septa, or even Lady Catelyn and Kyria's situation didn't seem so worrisome suddenly.

But still, Jon Snow was worried. Because if during days Kyria seemed fine, and almost like her old self, with her books and lively eyes, things were different at night.

He didn’t count the numerous time he woke up in the middle of the night by her voice screaming in the dark. Sometimes it was a name, Father’s or her mother. Robb’s and the others too. Even him sometimes. Other times she was only screaming. Not always that loudly, but often loud enough for him to hear.

She never talked about them. Her nightmares. Jon heard Maester Luwin saying to Lord Stark it may be related to her wound. The one inside her head that made her forget them all. But the old man couldn't say much. ‘Wounds at the head were the hardest to heal' he keeps saying.

Jon didn’t know what to say about that. He wasn’t a healer.

But he was a brother. It was part of the job to be worried about his little sister. Especially when she was screaming in the middle of the night more often than not.

That night, two moons after Kyria’s fall, it was Jon’s name she cried in the dark. Without thinking about running, he was already at her door, seeing her crisped hand grab the fur of her bed. Like Robb did every time he climbed on the bed and took her in his arms. It helped him learned to be close to her when it was their name she screamed. Even Lady Catelyn couldn't do anything about it. She wasn't ever calm until she saw, and felt the person she screamed the name of. It was kind of strange. But, again, as was the rest of this shit of a situation.

And if it worked, who were they to question it?

He pulls her head against his neck and hushed in her hair, his eyes glossed with sleep.

“I’m here Kyria. It’s alright.” he chipped, like a parrot.

“Blood in the snow… Blood in the snow. Jon. Jon. Jon. For the- For- Jon!” she babbled between her sobs.

He hushed, not bothering with what she was saying. He never understood what she was saying during those moments. H wasn’t sure if she was aware that she was talking. But, again, she never talked about her dreams.

The door creaked and Jon looked up. He found the hard eyes of Lady Catelyn disheveled from her sleep. Lord Stark was behind her, but Jon couldn't help but look at the lady as her own eyes didn't let go of him. They almost burned him with their intensity, and not in a good way.

“Jon...” Kyria said again. “I’m sorry...”

"I'm here Kyria," he responded. "It's alright. It was a nightmare."

She sobbed again, a small broken sob, and let go of his nightclothes.

She wiped her nose and look at him.

"I'm- I'm alright now, thank you, Jon."

“No problem. You’re gonna sleep again?” he asked.

She needed sleep. The dark bruised under her eyes were hard to see on a face still so young.

She nodded and smiled at him. He didn't insist. She was stubborn. He didn't wait to get up and flee the room, Lady Stark's hard gaze never once living him.

"Thank you, Jon," said Lord Stark, his voice almost booming in the silence of the corridor.

Jon nodded and escaped to his own room.

He didn't saw her until the afternoon of the day after. He was on the training yard with Theon Greyjoy and Robb, training like they had to do almost every day, under the watchful eyes of Ser Rodrick when he noticed her walking slowly to the Godwoods, a heavy book in her hands.

"How is your sister Stark?" asked Greyjoy, as he parred one of Robb's moves with his sword.

“What?” asked Robb distractingly.

He seemed always so concentrate when they sparred. So serious, and dedicated to his fight. Determined to give Theon Greyjoy a run for his money. The Iron boy wasn't even that good, but fighting him meant something to Robb. Something serious. He was never like that with Jon. Jon didn't like to wonder why.

“Your sister. How is she? Still screaming in the middle of the night like a mad girl?”

“Watch your tongue Greyjoy.” snarled Robb, teeth shining like some beast ready to bite.

The boy laughed. Jon didn’t catch the joke. But Theon had this tendency to find every single thing funny. He took great pleasure to remind Jon of his lack of sense of humor. Some days, Jon really hated the guy.

“Alright, alright. How is the kind lady Kyria?”

Robb sighed and drop his guard. Theon smiled wickedly, but did the same, to Jon’s surprise. He could have won the fight right now, with Robb letting down his guard.

“She had a nightmare last night," he responded finally.

Theon hummed in understanding. “Did she start to talk about them?”

Robb shacked his head. "She never talks about it. But she has them almost every night."

“I thought they started to be less frequent...”

“I thought too.”

Jon didn't say anything but keep listening, his eyes still locked on the entrance of the Gods Woods.

Since the fall Kyria seemed to like spend her time in the Gods Woods. She was there for entire afternoons, reading a book or two. Lord Stark, who also liked to spend his time close to the Heart tree was delighted to have the occasion to spend some time with his daughter.

More than once, Jon had wanted to go with them, to see what they did during those times. Maybe to have the occasion to spend some time with his sister and father. Away from Lady Catelyn watchful eyes.

But he was a bastard. It wasn’t his place to be with his father and sister during their time together. He wasn’t a true born.

Theon keeps asking his questions, and Robb keeps responding vaguely. And Jon looked at the Godwoods. He wondered if one day Kyria would talk about what in her dreams was scaring her so much.

Without really thinking about it, he entered in the Gods Woods. He found Kyria kneeling in the grass, right in front of the pool of dark water. She was doing something with her fingers, on her knees, right under the Heart tree.

As he came closet, he heard her singing. Or, more like humming. He stopped.

What was this song? The tune was familiar. He couldn't put his fingers on it, but it made him shiver. Not in a good way. There was something… disturbing about the way she was humming her tune.

“Jon?”

He almost jumped. How did she-?

“How did you know I was there?”

She frowned, and look at him. Or more at his boots, but at least it was the good direction…

She suddenly looked disturbed.

“I- I just knew I suppose...”

“Oh… right.”

Jon wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say...

He sat close to her.

“What are you doing?”

"Thinking," she said with a smile. " I like it here."

"I do too..." he looked at the leaves above his head. " It reminds me of Father."

"He's here a lot," she said pensively.

"Yes… he always has. He says it's because of the Gods. He feels them here..."

She looked at the face in the tree.

"It looks kind of scary… don't you think?"

“The tree?”

“The face.” she pointed the tears, as red as blood. “ do you think this is real blood?”

"I don't think so… I should have disappeared otherwise. This Heart tree is a thousand years old at least."

“As old as Winterfell...” she said.

He nodded. This was quite strange… Why did she want to talk about the Gods suddenly?

He was quite uncomfortable with all of this. He didn’t know what she was saying and he didn’t like it.

Jon looked around it, searching for another subject of conversation, and found her book.

“What is it?”

“Hm?”

“Your book. What is it talking about?”

She looked at it strangely, like she forgot it was here. She took it and put it in her hands.

“Politics.”

“Politics? What-” he cleared his throat. “what kind of politics?”

"Any kind!" she smiled. " it's about the way for a Lord to treat his peoples. The different things he can do, how gentle he can be, how harsh. It speaks about trust and balance."

“Balance?”

“Yes, between what you can give and what you can take from the common folk.”

He blinked, not really getting why she was reading something like that. It didn't sound that interesting…

As if seeing his confusion, she started explaining with more details of what she found so interesting in this book. Jon didn't understand how, but less than an hour later, he had the book in his hand and Kyria's finger pointed him a passage she was explaining. And, he was actually listening…

A strange sensation, to be interested in something that sounded so dull.

“I like reading.” she said, with a dreamy smile. “as much as I can.”

“Why?”

Her eyes found a leaf, red like the blood and followed it as it fell. Her expression changing as she opened her mouth. Jon knew immediately the subject was going to be difficult.

“I- When I read I feel like I can understand what is happening around me," she explained. "Since… since the fall, I can't spend a day without feeling completely lost. It's hard because of this place… it's supposed to be my home. I grew up here. But I don't remember it. And every time something is happening, something I'm supposed to know, I feel out of place."

She looked sad. Somehow, Jon could understand the feeling. It seemed quite similar to being a bastard. He grew up in this Keep, but it could never be his home. Because of what he was.

“But when I’m reading… I understand. I learn. And I feel… I don’t know, safe maybe. I think… I hope that if I learn enough about everything, I won’t feel that lost anymore… it’s childish somehow...”

“No I- I get it. It’s a bit like… like being a bastard.”

He saw a flash of something in her eyes. Maybe anger. But she didn't talk. Jon took it as permission to keep going with what he had in mind.

" I spend my entire life here. For as far as I can remember. I grew up with you, with Robb and Arya and everybody else. But- No matter how much I want it… I can never be my home. Not like it's Robb's, or yours… Because I'm still a bastard."

Kyria's face broke, like the reflection on the water. Jon felt like he had just thrown a rock at her. Without any word, she gripped his arm, and pull her head against his shoulder.

"You've always been a Stark. No matter what."

He smiled, somehow relieved by her words. It echoed one of his fears. Before the fall, Kyria loved him like a brother, as much as Robb did, or Arya. But with what happened, and the time she had to spend with her mother, Jon had been scared to lose that.

He did not.

“What will you do?”

“What?”

“When you’ll grow tired of mother’s contempt?”

“Your mother-”

“Is wrong to blame you for Father’s mistakes. You didn’t ask for any of that.”

Jon didn't answer. He had no idea what to say. What could he do? He was just a bastard...He didn't fancy himself as a knight, and even if he did, he was way too old to be squared with anyone.

When he was younger he had fancied himself as Master of arms, after Ser Rodrick. He could have stayed with Robb, beside his brother, as it was supposed to be. But he knew now that it was only a dream. Lady Catelyn was never going to allow him to stay on her home for all his life. He knew she was tolerating him because of Lord Stark. And because he had been a child. But as soon as she’ll be allowed, she will throw him out of Winterfell.

“What will you do Jon?” Kyria asked again.

Jon didn't know. He had no idea of what he was supposed to do with himself...Sellsword?

No…

Suddenly, he thought of Uncle Benjen. Yes, there was still the Watch…

Maybe…

“I’m not sure.”

Kyria hummed and put her head back against his shoulder.

They stayed like that for some time. She explained her book, with passion, and Jon listened. She seemed happy to share her love for her books with someone. Jon wasn’t particularly interested in books, but he liked to spend time with Kyria. And, if she could make him learn what was in those books without him reading them, who was he to complain.

Robb and Theon eventually find them under the Tree. The look on Theon’s face was quite funny.

“What are you doing here? Is this a secret meeting?” he asked a frown on his face.

Jon snorted amused.

"Well we were reading Theon, but if you want to join us, please, help yourself," Kyria responded a sweet innocent smile on her face.

Robb snorted, amused by Theon’s face. The Iron born quickly recovered and looked smugly at Robb.

“Find it funny? Go on Stark, go read with your dear little sister.”

“Jealous?”

“Of what? A bookworm? No thanks, I rather spend my time in Wintertown.” he said wiggling his eyebrows in the process.

Robb rolls his eyes. Kyria blinked and looked at Theon.

“Why would you go there?”

Theon laughed. Robb blushed. Jon ignored his own cheeks. Kyria must have found something in their face, judging by the color of her cheeks.

“...oh," she said shyly.

Theon Laughed again and rub Jon's sister hair.

“Sweet Summer Child!” he mocked, already midway to the Keep.

Kyria frown, her lips forming words Jon didn't hear.

To Jon's surprise, Robb sat close to Kyria and looked at the book.

“Oh I know this book!” he said proudly.

“You do?” responded Jon, surprised.

Robb liked to read as much as he did. Which was not so much if he didn’t have too.

“Yes, Maester Luwin wanted me to read it, some time ago.”

“And you did?” asked Kyria, her eyes lighted at the idea.

Robb frown, examining the book’s every angle.

"A big thing like that talking only about politics and Lordship? No. I forgot until Maester Luwin stops asking me to."

Kyria frowns and puts the book in her brother's hand.

“Well now you have an occasion!” she said proudly.

“What?”

“Go on. Read it," she said pulling the book further against Robb's chest.

Robb looked scandalized by the mere idea and looked at her like she had just sold him to some slave master.

Lord Stark found them like that several hours later, all buried in a deep conversation about this damned book. He stood there for some time, simply looking at them with an amused smile on his face.

He finally ordered them to go to the hall, for their supper. Jon profited as much as he could from the moment, but eventually, reality came back with the dark eyes of Lady Catelyn.

Kyria didn’t cry that night. Or at least Jon couldn’t hear her.

He found her again the day after, in the Gods Woods. She wasn’t singing this time. But the tears in her face as she looked at the face of the tree made him regret her lack of screaming earlier during the day.

At least, she could have cried after her nightmare. Not in daylight, while she was alone in the Godswoods.

Jon hesitated. He wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure to be welcomed.

“Kyria?”

She sobs and looks at him, her big blue eyes full of tears. He face was flushed and puffed.

He reacted on instinct. Without even thinking about anything, he kneels before her, and pull her in his arms.

“What’s wrong? Tell me, why are you crying like that?”

She tried to erase the tears from her face, but they keep coming out of her eyes. He tried to help her, passing his hands on her red cheeks. A small noise came out of her throat, half strangled by her breath. He mechanically hushed her, like he was grown used to do at night.

“Shh, it’s alright Kyria, tell me.”

“No. No, everything’s alright. It's just- I have a lot of things in my mind. That's all."

He hummed and chased her hair, stuck to her face by the salt of her tears.

“Are you sure?”

She tried to answer, but another sob escaped her. She fell back against him, and weep in his tunic. He let her do for several long minutes, listening to her heartbreaking sobs.

When she finally became calm enough to talk correctly, he asked again, why she was crying like that.

"I'm fine Jon, I'm- I only need tome to understand what is happening to me," she said with what looked like a tentative of a smile.

“Are you sure? Do you- do you want to talk about it?”

“No… It-” she sighed. “I don’t know what… where to start.” she tried her eyes dropping to her hands.

Jon tries not to feel hurt. She didn't want to talk with him… Maybe she thought she couldn't talk to him about certain things.

_I don’t have to talk to you about those things. You’re only my Half-brother._

Jon shacked his head. No. She wasn't Sansa. She wouldn't say anything like that. Would she? She was different after all…

“You don't have to… if-if you don't want to talk about it with me," he said shyly.

"No! No, it's not- No. I just… I don't know how to explain it."

"You can tell me anything," he swore immediately.“If you- If you want to. I mean, I could listen. I can- you can count on me.”

He didn't know how to make her understand. He yearned for those old times when she was so sure she could trust him with every little secret she could have.

He missed those times.

Kyria looked at him, intensely. Searching something in his face, his eyes, in the way he was looking back. Jon forces his lips to stay closed. He wanted to say something. Anything if it could make her trust him. But he didn't know what. He's never been good with words. So he chooses to stay silent. To wait for her story.

“Since- Since I fell from that tree I had… dreams. Strange dreams. I don’t know how to explain things.”

“What kind of dreams?" he asked when she didn't say more. "nightmares?"

“No- not really. Well, most of them are quite scary but- it’s more like… I don’t know what it is. It’s-” she sighed frustrated.

Jon bites his lips, still waiting for her explanation.

“The first night… when I- when I called for father." she started. "I dreamed of a place hit by the sun. With a crowd of people, all blank like the wool of a sheep, without faces. I dreamed of a boy gold of hair with a golden crown. I dreamed of a woman with golden hair and an enchanting face. More beautiful than what I ever saw. But I couldn't see her. I dreamed of a man as white and spotless as a sheet of paper who was beheaded. His head rolled and rolled and rolled and the red of his blood brought back the color on his face. Dark hair, light skin. Lighter than the lady. Lighter than the boy with the crown. Dark hair, light skin, with grey eyes and Father's traits."

Jon didn’t know what to say.

This was… like nothing he ever knew. So strange, so… He never had any dreams like that.

“It must- It was just a nightmare Kyria.” he finally said.

She nodded, her eyes large and almost scary with their intensity. He never saw her like that. She seemed feverish, possessed by the tell she was sharing with him. By this dream, she had that had scared her so much.

“I thought so too!" her voice went higher as she continued. "But then I had another one, the night after. And the night after. And almost every night. I only dream of those things. Different places, a different beast, different faces when I see them. But it's always the same in the end. Or at least it has the same form."

He looked at her. He didn't understand. The implications of what she was saying frightened him. How could she- How could she have spent all of this time dreaming of things like this without telling anyone?

Why didn’t she tell anyone about it?

“Why- Why didn’t you-”

“Talk about it?” she cut him, a grim smile on her face. “And say what? I don’t know what it is!”

“I know but- Kyria you could have told someone...”

"What for? Who knows how to stop dreams? You can't fill them through a sword like people. You can't talk to them, you can't negotiate. You suffer and that's it. You endure like a Stark." she said, her voice cutting more efficiently than any blade.

She sounded bitter.

Jon chooses carefully his words before speaking again. He didn't want to anger her, and he knew enough of the situation to tell he didn't have a single idea of what to do. In that aspect, she was right. Telling him hadn't change anything. But Jon was determined to help her. She couldn't keep ruminating her thought like that eternally. They had to find a way for her to understand what they meant.

Kyria seemed to take his silence like a sign, as she spoke again, her tone low and void of any emotion. This swig of emotions sends chill in Jon's bones. She wasn't well, no matter how hard she seemed to try to be. He could see that now. Clearer than ever before.

“There’s more. I keep having those… parasite thought that seem to pop out of nowhere inside my head. Again and again, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Parasite thought?” Jon asked. What could she mean by that?

"Yes. Like, word or images or… I don't know things that suddenly pop inside my brain, like a piece of information I forgot that come back to me. At first, I thought it was just that. My memories coming back to me bit by bit. But then I realize, some of them don't make any sense."

“Like what? Could you give me an example?” he asked very seriously.

Maybe it was her memories? Who was coming back to her like the pieces of a puzzle? Forming a picture she can't clearly see until she have them all. Jon hoped it was something like that. Because, not only could he help her, but it also means he might have his sister back. Like she was before. And he missed those times so much.

“I- I don't know, I have so many… When I see Sansa sewing with Jeyne and Bess, looking all pretty and sweet, there are words that come to my mind, and- I don't know what that means… It just… keep coming."

“What words?”

“Porcelain to ivory to steel.”

Jon blinked. What?

Again, she seemed to know what he thought. She nodded furiously, her hair disheveled like he rarely saw her before. She always took good care of her hair.

"And- And sometimes it's something else. I see Bran and all I can think about is crows. Enormous black crows flying high in the sky. When I see Arya I think of swords and and- I don't even know but there those words and I looked at it in the library and it's a kind of courtesy said in Essos, Valyrian."

“What courtesy?”

“Valar Morgules.”

“Va- what is it?”

"I asked Maester Luwin, it means ‘All men must Die'."

Jon felt the blood leave his cheeks. He didn’t like those things Kyria was telling him. It was… frightening. Really really frightening.

No. He couldn’t think like that. He wasn’t the one to have those thing thrown at. It was Kyria’s burden, he couldn’t take that from her. His duty as a brother was to help her, not to run away like some useless prick. He swallowed back before asking his next question.

“Does it happen with everyone?”

“No- not with… It happens with peoples but- also with pieces of sentences. Like, the first time Robb came to me, we talked for a long time. And he explained that when we were younger, people used to think us, Twins. And- This word… Twins. I don't know why but each time I pronounce it or hear it, it put me... unease. I don't like it. I don't even know why. I just- there this chill on my back, in my bare bones and I can't help but shake. I hate that sensation. It's just a word!"

Her eyes reddened again, and Jon grabbed one of her hand. It seemed difficult for her to voice all of this.

"I don't know what's happening to me, Jon. I can't explain it!" she whined, her voice broken before the end of her sentence.

She hides her face in his tunic and whipped a bit more, not saying anything else. Jon held her, hushing her sob as best as he could. But his mind was working. He had to think about what that could mean. He couldn't explain it, but something in the way Kyria exposed her situation woke something inside his chest. A pull he couldn't explain, that pushed him to believe in what she was saying. To think that there was more in this than only his little sister fair of the dark.

"I'll help you Kyria, I'll help you. We are going to figure this out. You and me, sister. I promise."

She nodded against his shoulder, and Jon gripped her back.

“I'll help you," he said again. Only he wasn't sure if he was saying it to her or to himself.

Either way, he had no intention to betray that promise. Maybe then, if he can't have back the sister he misses, he'll learn to know this new one. As strange as she seems to be. He couldn't complain either way it wasn’t his place to.

He was only a bastard.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Good? Bad? Awfull?  
> Can you guess whom Kyria is dreaming of? ;)  
> What do you think about dear Jon?  
> I have a huge HUGE sweet spot for him (I think you noticed XD)  
> Unfortunately, I'm afraid we are not going to see him a lot on this book :/ for a simple reason: I won't change a lot of things on the Wall. And I assume that everyone here has seen the show. So if you want to know what happens to Jon... well go watch it XD.   
> To be frank there is still a couple of thing that will be different, and I will tell you guys all about it. In due time ;)   
> But, I think my chapters are already long enough for me to add even more scene with things we already know or saw on the show. So I'm only putting the scenes that are really REALLY necessary. For the love of the plot!  
> Anyway, I'm done here, so hope you liked it and see you later! Don't hesitate to share your opinion on this chapter, it's very important to me to know what you think ^^.  
> 
> 
> See ya!


	3. Chapter 3: What it means...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we have strange dreams, okay.  
> What do we do with that now? Well, we talk about it of course!
> 
> ...Do we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....Well, I'm suspiciously quick to write recently... that's strange...  
> I'm not sure I will keep going like that but let's enjoy it while it lasts!  
> I hope you'll like this chapter :)  
> Enjoy your reading :)

**End of the Year 296.**

**Kyria**

The night was dark and smooth. No rain, no storm, no snow to keep awake the castle's inhabitants. Just the calmness of the night, peaceful and quiet. A perfect night to rest. The bed was just as perfect, warm and comfortable. But, Kyria didn't sleep. She lay awake, upside down, eyes on the ceiling, absently pulling the hair from a fur, under her head. She stared and the think. But she didn't sleep.

She wasn't only scared to dream again. She was kind of resigned to her fate now. No, she was thinking of Jon and their conversation in the Godwoods.

I'll help you he said...Could he? Maybe it was what she needed. Another fresh pair of eyes to help her understand the knot of information she had to deal with. She couldn't do it alone. She couldn't think about some of it without breaking down, so how could she suffer long enough remembering everything only to try to make sense to all of this.

It was too much. She couldn't bear all of this. Jon was right, in away. She needed help.

She sighed and looked again at the ceiling. She was glad it was him. Recently she had a really hard time looking at Robb, or Sansa or her parents without wanting to cry. There was always something in her dreams that reminded her of one of them. Rickon was too young and Bran...

She couldn't burden Bran with that too. He was too young, younger than Arya and she already found Arya too young.

But Jon... Even though there were things that made her think about Jon... something was different. She almost didn't think when she told him. It was... natural in a way, to tell him about it. She couldn't describe it. It felt right, somehow.

It was not like she never tried to tell someone else before. She tried many times. Maester Luwin, or Mother, Father even. But she never could. There always was something in her throat that killed the word before she could even think of pronouncing them. But with Jon, once she made the decision, it came naturally.

If she felt bold she almost could say it was main to be. But she didn't like the idea so she didn't say it.

The thing was, even with the confirmation that Jon was indeed going to help her, she couldn't help but feel...lost. Where was she supposed to start? The dreams? The visions? Or hallucinations or whatever they were. There was just so much who seemed confusing. Should she start with the less confusing part? But again what was the less confusing part? The river of Blood? The monster with sharp fragile teeth? The shadow on the beast?

Gods it all sounded like some sort of tail one read to children. Like some funny story with a bad guy and a hero who save the day.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't sleep. The noise of the night and the ancestral Keep were like whispers in the dark. Conversations that were only for her to guess. The creaking of the wood living with the cold air of the night. Like voices in the walls telling stories of more ancient times. Kyria blinked and look at the fire, slowly burning in the hearth.

Some part of her wanted to weep. But she couldn't. She was tired of crying, all the time for the same things. She wanted to understand, to have answers. She almost snorted. It always ended at the same point. Answers. Since the fall, she felt like she spends her entire time looking for it.

Why couldn't she have all of it? Just once? Why did she have to look for it, all the time? Those dreams of hers, couldn't they be clearer? Just this one time! Just to be nice!

But no. Of course not. She had to think about it, and look for it, and try to understand, almost desperately. Because of course, her life wasn't complicated enough already.

Kyria blinked and look at the fire. She needed to sleep, she knew that. But she didn't feel tired. More than half of the night must have passed already, but she still couldn't sleep. For one second she thought about going to Jon, to see if he was sleeping, to talk to him if he wasn't. But no. Going to Jon also meant going to Robb.

The boys had been separated recently, more to satisfy Mother's wish than anything else, but Robb still spends most of his time talking with his brother in Jon's rooms. More often then not, the boys were found asleep messily in the morning, Jon Robb and of course Theon. With a bottle of wine most recently.

No, she had to deal with it on her own. She had to organize her thought, as much as she could. She needed...

Yes, that could work. That could definitely work.

Kyria pulled out of her bed and found some paper and quill in her desk. Or what she used as much. She sat carefully on her table close to the fireplace and took a deep breath. She could do this. Clarity. That was what she needed. Clear proper carefully made list.

A list. Lists were good. Lists were useful.

Slowly she started with a first one. The places the thought she sees in her dreams. There were mostly the same. Only four or five different places. Maybe six. She enumerates them one after the other, describing the rooms or the light or the floor. Anything she could remember. Places were easy, as it wasn't the most disturbing thing she ever saw.

_Blood Splashed in the wall._

Well... most of the time.

Then came the harder list. The characters. Or the... beast? She wasn't so sure. All of it was way to confuse. But this was precisely the reason why she must do this. To not be so confused anymore. 

So she enumerates them too.

The beast.

The shadow.

The man with feathers and long fingers.

The little creature with red feathers and bright blue eyes.

The Wolf king with the face of the handsome man.

The big monster with sharp but fragile teeth.

The mad dog with foam on his mouth and mad eyes.

The white crow with sad eyes and harsh claws.

All of them. The peoples too.

The beautiful lady without a face.

The beautiful boy without a face.

The mother.

The girl.

She didn't write their names when it was about the people she knew. She couldn't. Except for one. She put him at the very end of her list, as she could still see his features as clearly as if he was in front of her. She blinked away the discomfort when her quill traced his name, one letter at a time.

Bran.

Kyria closed her eyes, chasing away the memory of those empty eyes. Now wasn't the time to deal with this.

She took a deep breath and grab another piece of paper. This was the harder part. The scenes... Kyria gulped, sat straight on her chair and dipped her pen in the inkwell. She locked her elbows to stop her hands from shaking and started with the first one.

It took her hours and three pieces of paper to have an acceptable result. She wiped her last tears and put the list with the others. She'll have to talk to Jon again on the morrow. Maybe with those, they could start to understand. Or at least try.

It was always more than that pathetic attempt of explanation she showed earlier in the Gods Wood. She looked at her own writing, shivering on the paper, and thought. She tried to find something else, anything, to do, but nothing came.

Finally, she resigned herself to her bed, as dawn came closer. She'll need some sleep anyway and there was nothing else to do.

She fell asleep as the first ray of sunshine lighted their way to her window.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Lady Kyria the sewing lessons are not an appropriate place to fall asleep! You should behave yourself in public, my lady, you are a noblewoman! You must behave accordingly to your birth." irked Septa Mordane with this high pitched voice every girl in the Keep learned to hate.

Kyria mumbled her apologies and rub the sleep out of her face as properly as she could. She found Arya's surprised gaze on her as well as Sansa quiet reprobation. Both girls seemed shacked to hear the religious lady reprimand their oldest sister. Kyria spares them a smile and went back to her work.

She wasn't sure of what she was doing... The stitching was rather good, for what she was used to doing, but still, it didn't have any purpose yet. Also, she liked the color. A deep blue that reminded her of Rickon's eyes, darker than Sansa's or even her's. Maybe she could do a dress with this... Or something like that.

"Is everything alright lady Kyria?" asked Jeyne one of Sansa's little friends.

"You seem tired," said Beth, the other little friend.

She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about those girls that infuriated her. They had this way of talking to her, to Sansa, Arya... anybody she could think of in fact that made her want to nail of their face. They woke up something almost savage inside of her. Something like an instinct to rip them off.

She didn't know what it was and, in truth, she was embarrassed to feel this way. Those girls weren't mean or vile or anything. They were Sansa's friend and with her sister's tendency to isolate herself from the rest of their siblings, Kyria couldn't be more glad for that.

But Still... the feeling was there and just loud enough for her not to be able to ignore. But even so, Kyria couldn't just bark at the sweet pair of brown eyes in front of her to piss off and leave her alone. It wasn't proper!

So Kyria smiled as prettily as she could and responded to the girl's worries.

"I am well thank you."

"Are you sure sister?" asked Sansa sounding as concerned as her friends.

Kyria smiled grew a bit.

"Yes, Sansa thank you."

The red-headed girl moves on her sit and smiled sweetly before going back to her work. Kyria didn't even try to look at what she was doing. If there was one thing Sansa was good at, besides doing everything she was said to do to be a perfect little lady, it was sewing. Some of the girls were good, like Beth or the pretty blond one Kyria keep forgetting the name's, but Sansa had talent. Real talent.

"Lady Arya what is this?" squeak Septa Mordan to Kyria's right.

The old woman was leaning on Arya's work, a piece of grey tissue looking rather...original. To stay polite and not say messy. Which she just did... Oh well. At least it wasn't out loud!

"What was your intention beside ruining a perfectly good piece of tissue?" asked harshly the Septa.

Arya's face blushed furiously. It made her look like a big fruit. With brown hair. And furious eyes.

She mumbled her answer. The septa made a noise that made Kyria's teeth creak.

"A wolf? Well, young lady it certainly doesn't look like any wolf I ever saw!"

There it is, the disapproving voice. Kyria's muscle jaw ticked with the pressure she put to keep her mouth shut.

"The least you could do is make some efforts lady Arya! You are a noble girl of high birth, nobody would want a savage little minx who doesn't know how to do anything as a wife!" sermon the Septa. And did she really just said that? "It doesn't have to be perfect for we both know you don't have your sister's talent, for you couldn't have that level of perfection in this art but at least you could try!"

Good gods...

This woman wasn't good at not showing any form of favoritism... Not at all in fact. How could she say things like that and not expect the inevitable answer?

"I don't care! At least I won't have to marry a stupid prick!" shouted Arya, even more red.

Kyria understood her. How could she not? She would have reacted the same way as the Septa say those things to her.

"Lady Arya!"

"I'm no lady!" shouted back the girl, already halfway out of the room.

"Come back here, young lady! You aren't dismissed yet!" said the Septa.

The door slammed behind Kyria's sister. Kyria sighed. Well, she wasn't surprised.

"How rude." whispered some girl behind Kyria's. It took her a minute to recognize Beth's voice.

Kyria hesitated for maybe one second before going to after her.

"Lady Kyria!" called Septa. "Our session isn't done yet, young lady!"

Kyria gritted her teeth and made her best curtsey to her Septa.

"With all my respect Septa, I think my sister's distress is more important than my new dress right now."

The old woman frown, clearly thinking about it. Kyria's teeth gritted a bit more. This old goat started to piss her off. How could she consider sewing pieces of fabric more important than her Lord's daughter distress? Stupid old goat.

"Let the girl be. She'll calm herself soon enough." the woman said dismissively, clearly not thinking Arya's feelings mattered much in the end.

Kyria could have bitten her head out for that if she could.

"That is your opinion Septa. But Arya is my sister. I can't let her be when she's clearly distressed."

"This is Arya sister," said Sansa, her pretty eyes looking even bigger than normal. "She'll have forgotten everything about it before supper."

Was she-? Did she meet Arya? The most stubborn and spiteful girl Kyria could think of? Surely Sansa knew better. For everything Robb told her about those two, Sansa was the most recurrent victim of the girl's ire.

"Really?" she said not convinced.

Sansa nodded, confident. "Yes, she never really cared about sewing. Or any of the other's womanly arts. She is more a boy than anything else. You can't change our sister behavior Kyria if even Septa or Mother is unsuccessful." she explained with a tone that Kyria had only heard from their mother.

Really? She thought again. She always knew Sansa was naive, but this was something else...

"Well I don't know for mother, but if every lesson with Septa Mordane is like the one I just saw, I understand Arya's lack of taste in the matter," she responded, her anger boiling just under her skin.

"And what is this supposed to mean?" pipped the Septa, feeling immediately concerned.

As she should be. Kyria gritted her teeth once more, restraining the harsh words that were bumping inside her mouth. She couldn't insult her Septa. Even if she was dying to eat her alive, with some verve the Queen of Throne herself would blush for, she couldn't do it. From what she understood of social interaction and the few discussions she had with her Father when she questioned him on the subject, letting her anger talk for her wasn't a good way to make your point in a polite conversation. Or in any conversation for what mattered.

" _A conversation is like any sword fight"_ had said Father the day she asked him, as they sat together on the Godswoods. _"If you let your anger cloud your judgment, you will lose every time."_

She knew her father was liked and respected for his Honor, but also for his quiet and calm disposition. Which does not prevent him from being feared for his wrath? On the contrary, is wrath was more dangerous than others because of his calm disposition.

Kyria would love to be like him one day. But she too often felt like a volcano ready to explode to be confident in the matter. Father said it was the wolf inside her that made her that way.

She wondered if this same wolf was the reason she didn't go mad with everything happening to her.

She liked the idea.

So, dutifully following her father advice, she took a deep breath and pulled away from any anger she could have felt.

"It means Septa Mordane that I don't think you would have talked to your most talented student the way you just talked to Arya. Am I wrong?"

The older woman blinked and looked at Sansa. She opened her mouth, maybe to defend herself or to respond to Kyria's accusation, but she didn't let her.

"So let me ask you, Septa, is Arya bad at sewing because she didn't like it, or is it because you love so much to remind her of her lack of talent compared to our dear Sansa?"

Sansa blushed.

"It's not my fault if she isn't good at it!" the girl said almost immediately.

"I agree." responded Kyria. "but constantly telling her how bad she is compared to her sister who seems to be the Maiden reincarnated won't help her one bit."

Kyria bowed again and exited the room without letting any of those ladies stop her. She had a sister to see.

Arya wasn't hard to find when she was upset. Kyria only had to find one of her brothers. Bran was with Maester Luwin to practice his letters so Arya wouldn't be there for a kingdom, Rickon was with Mother whatever they were and there was no way in the seven hells for Arya to be there with the argument she just had. Even more, if she's still supposed to be with the other girls and Septa Mordane. Mother would have none of it and would push her back to the room, kicking and screaming if necessary. Robb was with Father for his own private lessons. The heir of the House was privileged special lessons of Lordship with the Lord Paramount of the North. Lucky him.

Which left only Jon. Now At this time of the day, Jon could be found in two places. The courtyard or his chambers.

Kyria tried the chambers first. Empty.

As suspected, she found Arya on the courtyard, intensively observing Jon hitting the training dummy.

_Is it dead yet?_

Kyria blinked and sat next to her sister. Immediately, the girl was frowning again.

"What do you want?" she growled.

Kyria sighed. Yes, she clearly had already forgotten all about the incident. Good Gods did Sansa only knew her sister? Really knew her?

"Septa Mordane-"

"If you're here to tell me how she was right and I should act more like a lady or anything that you can go to the seven hells for all I care."

"Arya!"

The girl blushed at her favorite brother's reproachful gaze.

Kyria tried not to be upset by her sister's assumption. She tried.

Not a success.

"I wanted to know how you felt but if you take it this way I can go back."

Arya snorted and look at her with suspicion.

"Why would you? You never did before."

"Yes, but that was before," she said harshly.

She was tired of this word. Before. She wasn't whatever she was before.

"Why would you bother anyway? I won't come back! I don't care what Septa or Sansa think. I don't care about all this stupid stuff!"

"I get that," said Kyria.

She wasn't really sure what else she was supposed to say. The girl was stubborn to a fault. Her eyes cross Jon's. The boy moved on the ball of his feet, his practice sword awkwardly hanging on the end of his arm. He looked at her with those big puppy eyes of his, like he wanted to be scratched behind the ears or something. Kyria sighed again, she wasn't in the mood to bother with Arya's mood. She had way too many things to think about. And a conversation to have with her brother.

Preferably without a moody little girl on their legs.

"Alright listen. I didn't like what happened with Septa too. Not at all in fact. She was wrong to treat you like that, and I wanted to know how you felt about it." She explained. " I wanted to- to let you know that I was there for you if you needed it."

She didn't know how to explain it. Arya's behavior wasn't helping. She didn't know how to talk to her like that.

The frown on Arya's face loses a little. She still seemed upset, but Kyria doesn't feel judged anymore.

"You do?" asked the girl. "You think Septa was wrong? Really?"

"Of course Arya. It is not because you don't know how to do something that you're bad at it. And from what I saw Septa don't seem to want to explain a lot of things to you except maybe how different you are from Sansa."

Arya snorted again.

"She wants me to be as boring as her. With her stupid song and pretty dresses. And her stitching!" she said the last bit like it was some kind of insult. Kyria repressed an amused smile. "Why would I want to spend all of my life doing that when there are so many more interesting things to do! Like- like sword fight! Or riding or- hunting! It sounds so much fun! How is that fair that only boys are allowed to have fun!"

Kyria repressed a smile. How indeed.

"I don't understand why I have to do all of this stuff. Why are they always after me? No one never tells you anything when you go for a ride with Jon and Robb. But everyone is always screaming at me when I want to do that."

"Maybe they are screaming because you chose to do what you like during the time where you are supposed to do what you must."

Arya blinked.

"You like to skip your lessons, Arya," said Jon from where he had started to hit the dummy again. 

"And so? They are boring me to tears! And I won't learn anything useful anyway!"

"Maybe, but you'll notice people have this tendency to not bother you that often when you, at least, pretend to do what they ask."

The girl frown again. "I don't want to be a lady!"

"No one said you had to be!" responded Kyria on the same tone. "But you could have more freedom if you stopped to fight every single task you have to do in your day."

Arya crossed her arms and look away, a stubborn line on her jaw. Kyria tried another approach.

"You mentioned our ride with Jon and Robb. Do you know why father always allow me to go?"

"Because you're the oldest girl, you have fewer lessons with us."

"But I still have lessons with mother. I have the same amount of free time than you and Sansa, if not less. But I still can do what I want from time to time. Do you know why?" she asked again.

She shrugged.

"Because I do what I'm asked to do first," said Kyria. "When I want to ride, I do what is asked from me and then I go ride. I don't skip my lessons or leave when no one's looking to do anything I want. It's called compromising sister."

"I'm not stupid," grumbled Arya.

Kyria smiled.

"I'm sure you're not. Why don't you try it?"

"What?"

"Alright, that's what we're going to do. On the morrow, in our next fantastic sewing session, you'll sit next to me. And you are going to try. To really try." she raised a hand, stopping any incoming protest. "I'll help you. And if Septa Mordane has something to say on the matter I'll deal with her. But Arya, you'll have to really try. And once we're done, we'll ask Father if you can come with me on a ride. Deal?"

Arya looked at her from the corner of her eye. She seemed to really think about it. Kyria looked at Jon. He had stopped his assault on the dummy and was looking at them. He smiled at her, nodding once.

"You'll help me?"

"I will."

"And we'll go riding after?"

"We will."

"... I accept only if Jon agrees to come with us and to show me how to put a trap in the woods."

"A trap?"

"For hunting."

Jon blinked with big eyes, not expecting to be part of the deal and Kyria laughed and accepted. She made a mental note to observe this lesson with attention. It was something she was curious about too, after all.

Kyria knew she couldn't talk with Jon right now, not with Arya so close. So, as both girls went back to the keep, she went for his ear and asked him to find her in her room later in the afternoon.

She only had time to grab the note she made the night before when he knocked on her door. She opened it with a tensed smile.

"You wanted to talk to me?" he asked.

"Yes, about... what I told you yesterday on the Godswood."

He faces darkened. He sat on a chair without further word and look at her. She bites her lip and presented him with her notes.

"I made that yesterday, after our talk. It's... everything I can remember about my... dreams. I thought... if you read those you could have a better idea of what I'm talking about."

"of course."

He took the paper, and start reading the first one. The places. Kyria waited patiently for him to read all of it, his brows frown in concentration.

After some time he looked back at her.

"Why Bran?"

"What?"

"On this..." he said showing her the piece of parchment, "you put every... the living thing you saw in your dreams. They are all beast or monsters or shadows except for Bran. Why Bran?"

Kyria sighed.

"I don't know. When I dreamed of him.... Well, technically it wasn't even a dream as I was awake... it was like he could see me. It never happened before. Every time I am dreaming, I see a lot of things but no one ever sees me. I don't know how to explain this further than that. It's just... like I wasn't part of those dreams."

Jon nodded pensively and looked back at the paper.

"We should start with the obvious." he finally said.

He took another piece of parchment and put it in front of the two of them. The places. They looked at the first one, where the sun had hit her head, and start to think of what it could mean.

They do so for half an hour without any result before Kyria finally offers to go to the Library.

"If we want to understand, maybe we could do better with actual knowledge."

"You're not wrong," muttered Jon.

Once on the Library, they started with the section dedicated to geography. If the sun was hot in her dreams then the place must have been in the south. But even with the description of the said place, without any name or real idea of its location, it was going to be really difficult to found where it was. They keep searching for a good portion of the day, restlessly looking in heavy books full of dust.

All in all, they didn't find much. As expected, unfortunately. She felt relieved thought, to know Jon was looking with her.

Without really realizing it, they started to meet every other day on the library, spending several hours looking for any answer they could think of. Sometimes we were drifting on other subjects we found while we were looking in some book or another.

Even if she started to feel desperate by their lack of progress, Kyria liked to spend her time with Jon. They were building something she didn't get to have with her other siblings. Friendship of a sort.

She liked it.

Sansa's name day went and passed without any other answer more precise than 'there is something to understand here'.

Unfortunately, spending so much time with Jon was hard to miss. Not to mention her mother's hard glance each time someone had the misfortune to mention the new development in Kyria's routine, some of her siblings were becoming quite envious of this newfound closeness. Robb, or Arya, in particular, was kind of upset to be left out of this new thing that was happening.

Kyria started to actively think about it when Arya stopped talking to her for an entire day. Since their chat after this disastrous lesson with Septa Mordane, Arya and Kyria had spent some time together. In their common lessons where Kyria took the habit to help her sister in her stitching technique, or out of it where they went on several excursion out of the Keep just the two of them. Well, with some guard of course but they still get to go out. Arya seemed to love those times.

But, with their quest, Jon didn't get to spend that much time with Arya anymore, and knowing that Kyria still could, made the little girl jealous.

Robb had pretty much the same line of thought. Robb didn't like to suddenly be left out.

He came to them one day, something like two months after Jon had first accepted to help her, his face pleated in some frown that made Kyria gulped.

Jon's frown didn't wait to mirror the one in Robb's face.

They almost fight that day...

"I just want to know what takes so much of your time in this dusty place. Why do you want so much to keep it a secret?"

"Do I bother you when you go for your little secret trips with Theon in Wintertown," responded Jon, looking ready to fly out of the room.

Kyria sighed. He started to be annoying.

"What are you doing Robb? What do you want?"

"Well, I-"

He raised his hands above his head and start walking around the room.

Jon looked at Kyria. She's had enough of this.

"What do you want Robb? Do you want to spend more time with Jon? Being it just Theon and Jon and you? A boy's things? Well, go on! I don't want to still your friend!"

"Kyria we still-"

"No, no, go on, go spend some time with Robb. And go see Arya while you're at it! I'll stay here for the day."

She almost pushed the boys out of the room, without earing any of Jon's protest. Robb didn't say anything and Kyria was glad for it. She didn't want to hear anything he could have to say.

Once alone, she took a deep breath and looked back at the table where she and Jon put their book and the paper where all of their note was written. She was tired of this. Jon was the only one who helped her and she felt like everyone was mad at her for that. Since when spending time with someone was a crime here?

And why could Arya and Robb spend any time they wanted with Jon, but when she wanted to do the same, suddenly she was a monster?

Lost in her thought, Kyria walked through the library and took one book. Something about Valyrian. The language, of course.

She liked the sound of high and low Valyrian. She liked trying to learn it on her own. It was a nice change from what she was doing every day.

She stayed alone for some time, simply reading her book and trying to forget the mess that was her life.

She was started to fall asleep on her book on the late afternoon when the tip-top of feet against the stone caught her attention

"Kyria?"

"Sansa." she smiled.

The young girl looked shy in the middle of the big library, looking at her sister from under her lash.

"Can I help you, Sansa?"

The girl blushed and shake her head.

"I only came to... to know what you were doing in this place."

...Well, Kyria wasn't an expert, but she could have sworn this was a lie. Why would she spend her time in the library other than for reading?

"Well I'm reading..." she answered instead of calling her for her so clear lie. It wasn't polite to call someone a liar. Even If he was.

She sometimes had difficulties to understand politeness. It seemed so... complicated. And slightly hypocrite.

Sansa nodded and look around.

"Can I... can I stay with you? For some time?"

"Of course you can Sansa. But I won't be of the great company I'm afraid."

She shakes her head. " It doesn't matter. I- I'll sit here."

The girl awkwardly took place on a chair next to her sister and Kyria wondered again what she wanted to stay in a place she felt obviously uncomfortable.

She waited a couple of minutes before talking again.

"Is there something I could do for you, Sansa?"

The girl shacked her head again. "No, I only wished to spend some time with you... if you don't mind."

That surprised Kyria. Not that she didn't like spending time with Sansa, but the girl rarely wished to do that outside of their shared lessons or their evenings together around Old Nan tales. She'd rather spend her time with her friend Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel.

"Well, of course, you can spend your time with me." she finally answered, politely closing her book on her knees to give her sister all of her attention.

The girl smiles, her shoulders dropping a few inches, looking relieved.

"What were you reading?"

"A book about High Valerian."

"High Valerian? Why?"

"Because I'm curious." smiled Kyria, " and I wanted to know more about the language. Learn it even."

Sansa frowned in confusion. "But, it won't be of any use for you... why would you learn something you are not going to use?"

"And How can you be so sure I won't have any use of High Valerian in my life? I could travel to Essos someday, or meet someone who speaks the tongue."

She still seemed to be confused. Kyria tried something else.

"Do you always prioritize the activities that might be useful later?"

"Yes. Our duty is to learn the best way to occupy our place in society." answer the girl dutifully. "As a daughter of the Lord of a family as old and important as ours, we have to behave ourselves accordingly to our rank."

It seemed strangely similar to a speech coming from Septa Mordane. Kyria, slightly amused told her so. Sansa seemed to take offense.

"We should listen to our Septa Kyria! She knows the way of the Gods and- and- it's her duty to prepare us and educate us to the best of her abilities and-"

"Sansa." Kyria stopped her sister. Good gods could the girl speak fast when she wanted to. "I'm not saying anything except your speech look a lot like something Septa could say."

"I don't see how it is a bad thing..." she mumbled.

"Well, I feel like... it is more her opinion on the matter than yours," she explained.

Sansa tilts her head on a side, like a curious little cat. The confused look was back.

Kyria bites her lips.

This was one of the things she disliked the most about Sansa. She didn't seem able to think by herself. She was like a blank page, everyone around her wanted to fulfill. Mother, Jeyne Poole, Septa Mordane. Every time she voiced an opinion, Kyria could almost hear the voice of the person who's it belonged on top of her sister. When she talked about duty and the art of being a lady, Kyria could hear Septa Mordane. When she talked about knights and songs, she could hear Jeyne Poole or Beth Cassel. When she talked about family, it was Mother's voice. But never Sansa alone. Kyria didn't understand why. She was a smart girl that she knew. Why did she need to count on other people to forge her perception of her own life?

It was something Kyria could never do. No matter how hard she might try.

_Little bird singing her pretty songs._

Kyria blinked. Anyway, in her opinion, Sansa needed to speak for herself. She bites her lip. Maybe she could encourage her in this way? It may be pretentious, but if Sansa saw the world from other's eyes, maybe she could make her see it from her own? She was her older sister after all wasn't she?

She needed to be smart about this. Make her think....

"Why do you think it is a bad thing?" asked Sansa, cutting her line of thoughts.

"I don't. Not necessary. Only... I would like to have your opinion. Not Septa Mordane's. Do you understand?"

She nodded but didn't look convinced.

"What if my opinion is the same than our Septa's?"

Kyria bites back a frustrated sighed. This won't work...

She thought carefully about her answer.

"Then what is your opinion?" she asked again, more to gain some time than anything else.

Still, she waited for the answer.

"I think a Lady should not cloud her mind with too much knowledge. It could be...how can I say, inconvenient in her future. It is not our place to learn too many things, like History or language. Our place... we are no men we can't learn the same things or do the same things, or have the same place in society."

Oh my. That was impressive.

"So you are saying that your aspiration in life is to be the perfect lady? To, what, marry any Lord Father will find for you and give him a lot of redhead babies?"

Sansa blinked.

"It- it is what I have to do."

"Really?" asked Kyria again, "Nothing else? Don't you have no other ambitions, no dreams? Just... being a dutiful wife?"

"Well," the girl blushed. "I- I would like- I mean if I could choose... I suppose I'd like to... to marry a southern lord. Like the songs, those minstrels sang during a feast. Like the one Father invite for my name day." she explained, her face suddenly illuminated by the shine of her eyes. "Being crown at a tourney, being... wearing southern silk, living under the bright sun, where it's warm and always busy. Meet the King and the Royal Family, live at Kingslanding-" she abruptly cut herself, blushing brighter.

"Meet the prince." guessed Kyria.

She nodded.

"Oh imagine Kyria! The crown prince! They say his mother is the most beautiful woman of all the Seven Kingdoms! And with everything Father told us about the King, how could he be anything else than wonderful! And he's a prince. It would be like the songs!" sighed Sansa, a dreamy glint in her eyes.

...Well hello, Jeyne.

Kyria tried to hide her concern. She wasn't sure why she felt like that, but something inside her didn't like the fascination Sansa seemed to have for the crown.

_Beautiful face. Beautiful Boy within an awful beast._

Kyria blinked. Something...

She tried to concentrate on the current conversation. She could deal with the rest later.

Always later.

"How do you know all of this?"

"The- Jeyne and I, we like to listen to the things people say about the south, and the capital, and- and the crown family."

"Yes I understood that, but this is not what I meant. How do _you_ know this for sure? Have you met the crown prince? Or the royal family? Have you been south?"

"Of course not!" laughed Sansa. "But I wish I could. I wish we weren't that far north, away from everything." she lost her smile. "everything here is so... dull. The weather, the land, the castles...We never get to have tourney, we don't have knight or anything... Only our Godwoods and Hunt and some feast from time to time. It's... it's-"

Kyria loses her smile. That didn't sound good at all.

"You hate our lives that much?" she asked with a pained voice. "I know it's not much... but it's still home... it's where our family had lived for thousands of years..."

Sansa dropped her gaze. Something showed on her face for a minute. An expression Kyria didn't understand. Something sad maybe... hidden under her sister's usual behavior. She looked distressed.

Kyria grabbed her hand. A strange feeling moving inside her belly. Was it...

"Sansa, why did you come to me today? What is bothering you?"

Sansa blushed and look at her hands, her eyes suddenly glassy. She bites her lip, and lower her head a bit more.

"I- How do you- How are you doing it? How do you manage to look at ease with everyone while you... you lost your memories. Don't you feel... different than the others?" she finally asked, her voice trembling at every word.

Kyria took her time thinking about it. Why did she need to ask her this?

"I- I try to be myself I think... Why?"

"I- Don't you feel alone? Different than the other? Out of place?"

Something clicked in Kyria's mind.

"Sansa, do you feel that way?"

It seemed logical, now that she thought about it. Sansa always seemed alone when she was with them. Always sitting in a corner, looking pretty as a perfect little doll. But she rarely talked with the others. She seemed sometimes close to Robb, sometimes she sang to Rickon before she put him to bed. But otherwise, she always seemed alone. Why? Why did she need to isolate herself from them?

She asked her.

Sansa didn't look at her when she talked.

" I- I don't know... sometimes, the things you do together... the way you are behaving...it's not proper. It's not worthy of our Family and our rank." she explains.

Hello, again Septa. That started to be quite annoying.

"Sansa. Can I ask you something?"

"Y-yes" She looked unsure. Almost afraid.

"Do you always think of what is the proper thing to do? Every time you do something? All-day for every single day of your life?" asked Kyria abruptly.

That seemed to be the point where everything started. Being proper...

Sansa looked at her, almost insulted.

"Septa Mordane said Ladies must never forget their manners. That we are noble ladies and that we must act properly, not like the common folk."

Septa Mordane... Or course. This woman felt like some kind of disease attached to the Fun's back. She was a religious woman after all... From what Kyria understood of the Faith of the Seven, a Septa's mind followed only one direction. One thought is good, reject the others. Impure thoughts. Impure gods. Only one religion is the good one, the others are barbarism. Kyria was almost certain she couldn't bear to live a life like that. It felt just impossible. Her own mind was like a tree with always more branch each time she had another idea.

The Seven definitely didn't sound like something she could follow. She'd rather have the old Gods.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt convinced. Adding some personal reflection in Sansa's head couldn't possibly hurt her. No wonder the girl looked so lady-like if she takes every word from this woman's mouth as parole from the Gods themselves.

Again, her Father's councils were fresh in her mind. Think before you speak. Think of the words and the way you want the other to understand.

"Septa Mordane also said that Courtesy is a Lady armor." she finally started.

"Yes, I know she says that a lot. That's why I think it's important to always be perfect in our manners." explained the little girl looking so sure of herself.

Oh dear. Well, she certainly had work to do. Where was she supposed to start with that?

"Well..." Kyria looked at the girl's still chubby face and carefully sit on the closest chair. "You see... I don't think that's what we're supposed to do. At least not all the time."

Sansa sits close to her, her delicate brows frowned.

"What do you mean? Septa Mordane said-"

"I know but-" Kyria cut herself.

Deep breath Kyria, deep breath. It wasn't Sansa's fault. But that Septa started to piss her off talking through her sister's mouth. One Septa Mordane was more than enough.

"I'm just saying- You know what an armor look like don't you?"

Sansa's eyebrow goes up, everything in her facial expression screaming "seriously? You're asking?"

"Of course I know. Men wear armor when they have to fight. At war or during a tourney. I'd like to see it one day. A tourney. Shining knight fighting for honor, southern ladies with a silk dress and beautiful hair."

She escaped a dreamy sight and Kyria fought very hard not to shake her head.

Yep, definitely a lot of work.

Good gods...

"Right. And you know that knight and men, in general, don't always wear their armor."

"Well yes obviously. It must be quite uncomfortable otherwise." again this tone. Almost lofty.

Kyria surely didn't like that tone. She sounded like a spoiled brat.

"Now careful sister. You talk like a spoiled little girl."

Sansa's cheeks reddened, her face insulted.

"I'm not!"

She ignored the scream. It wasn't really important, besides confirming her previous statement.

"You see, that's what I'm talking about. If men don't wear their armor all the time, why should you? Do you think your own family will hurt you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why does being proper or not matter to you, even when it's just us? I mean come on, everyone here saw you as a baby toddling around like every one of us. They shouldn't be that shocked if you let it go some time to time."

Sansa blinked, a lost look on her face. It was like Kyria just spoke another language. It made Kyria resent more this damned Septa. What was this woman thinking? Why did Mother never say anything! For Sansa's education to be so- so superficial! Like she wasn't raised to-

Oh.

Oh yes of course. Sansa was raised to be the perfect lady. Not like her or Arya. Arya, of course, was to wild, to boyish to be tanned in the skin of a noble little girl of a great house. Not while she was dreaming of wildlands and great adventures. And Kyria herself was too stubborn to just accept the passive and submissive life of a proper lady. At least a lady according to her septa.

But Sansa was sweeter than that. Nicer. And she liked to be like the person she was with. That made her easy to shape.

_Little Dove..._

Kyria blinked. Focus, focus.

"But- but Septa-"

"I know what Septa said. But-" Kyria paused a second. Just enough to think of a way to say what she wanted to say without sounding too brusque. She needed to be smart about this. She needed to use what she knew of Sansa. She knew how her sister worked."Sansa, do you think I don't behave like a lady?"

The little girl seemed hesitant.

Kyria tried not to be hurt. That was not flattering. Like not at all. It wasn't supposed to be a difficult question!

"Not- not always. But you'll a great lady Kyria!"

And one crushed ego, one! Thank you, sister.

Not that it really matters at the end. But coming from Sansa, Kyria couldn't help but feel a little bit insulted.

"So I can be a great lady even if I don't always behave like one?"

"Y-yes" once again, Sansa looked unsure of her reasoning.

"Then why couldn't you? When you're with me, or Robb or mother and father?"

"But- I don't want to be like Arya!"

Kyria frowned. That was another matter entirely.

"That's not what I am asking you. You wondered how I could feel home even without my memories. I try to be myself. Maybe you should try the same thing. Without everything you think is asked from you. Not the little lady. Just Sansa."

"Just Sansa?" asked the girl.

She looked like she wanted to add something, but stayed silent. Kyria restrained herself to ask anything.

The discussion ended there. Sansa stayed a bit with Kyria, and Kyria opened back her book. After several minutes, Sansa quit the room, still pensive.

Kyria didn't know what to think of this conversation. There were too many things that could happen in this little head. At least, she tried to show her another path.

She hoped it was enough.

**OoOoOoOoOoOooOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

She didn't talk to Jon or Robb for some days after that. She didn't even saw them for a time.

But, four days after their encounter in the Library, Jon shyly came to her, looking embarrassed and invited her to a ride with him and Robb. She said yes, more curious than anything else.

They rode for some time, in complete silence. She was in the middle, concentrate on her mare's movements, slow and familiar. The tension was heavy. Or maybe it was only her. None of them talked.

Once they were far enough to the keep, Robb opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he grunted, still not looking at her. "For the other day."

She didn't talk, waiting for what he had to say. She wasn't going to make it easy for them.

"I- Jon said he was helping you with something. Linked with your... memories. I shouldn't have been like that."

"Like what?" she asked.

"Like... like you didn't have the right to spend some time with Jon. But it's strange Kyria. Before you... you didn't use to spend time with Jon that much." he tried to explain.

Kyria gritted her teeth.

"Well in case you have not noticed, I've changed. Losing your memories tend to have that effect," she said coldly.

Jon coughed to her right.

"No no I know I know. It's just... I- It's still difficult to... to remember that things are different. I was used to..to the way things were before... before."

"Well, it's not before. You should be used to it now." she snapped.

"I know. I'm sorry," he said stopping his horse.

Kyria stopped too and finally look at Robb.

Mistake.

There was a severe case of puppy eyes happening here. Lethal with those blue eyes of his. And those dark curls. And this face.

And the fact that he was still her big brother. And she had a lot of difficulties ignoring that little detail.

"I- I just wanted to understand why you seemed to need to be alone all the time. What was so important for you to spend all of your time hidden in the library. I was- I was worried I guess." he confessed almost shyly.

There you go.

Kyria looked at Jon. He seemed as puppied as Robb.

What was it with those boys and their manipulation. Did they always do things like that? Kyria seriously doubted the efficiency of the technique once against grown-up men. Lords even for Robb.

Suddenly, something clicked inside her brain. Like a key in a lock. The little click that came with the opening of a door.

" _WE KNOW NO KING BUT THE KING IN THE NORTH WHOSE NAME IS STARK!"_

" _THE KING IN THE NORTH!"_

_THEKINGINTHENORTHTHEKINGINTHENORTHTHEKINGINTHENORTHTHEKINGINTHENORTH_

" _Lord Crow."_

" _Lord Stark"_

_WhiteWolfYoungWolfWhiteWolfTHEKINGINTHENORTHTHEKINGINTHENORTHTHEKINGINTHENORTH_

" _He's never been defeated in battle. Never."_

" _They call him the Young Wolf. They say he can't be killed."_

" _They say he's the best swordman of Westeros. A fierce warrior."_

" _Lord Crow!"_

" _King Crow!"_

_Snow_

_Sand_

_Never been_

_My son of Ice and Fire_

_Promise me_

"Kyria!"

"Kyria!"

Kyria blinked, momentarily blinded by the sun. The sky was grey but some ray still manages to shine through her eyes. She wasn't on her horse anymore. For one second, she thought she was back to the day of her fall. Except it was not a bunch of stranger above her, fussing around and screaming names. This time it was her brother's curled heads.

One of their hand was under her neck, and both were talking. She couldn't really understand what they were saying. It was as if her brain was still in this... vision. The words keep turning and turning inside her head. There hadn't been any image this time. Only sounds.

She keeps looking at each of their faces. Robb. Jon. Jon. Robb.

 _The young wolf_ her brain keeps saying. _The white wolf._

Something inside her head was moving almost frenetically. So many thoughts were flowing in her mind at the same time. For some time, as she looked at the worried eyes of her brothers, red blinded her.

_Blood. Blood through the snow. Blood through the floor._

_Blood._

"And... so he spoke..." she mumbled blinking repeatedly.

"Kyria? Do you hear me?" asked Jon.

"Kyria what's happening? How do you feel?"

And so he spoke...

And now the blood splashes through those halls.

"For... every soul here to see..." she sang, as her head fall back on the cold floor.

Both boys exchanged a worried glance. Jon's pale face blanched even more.

"Kyria..."

**TBC.**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How do you think I manage so far? Good? Bad? Horrible? Don't hesitate to share your opinion ^^'.  
> In the next one, I'll do something slightly different ;). We won't spend all our chapters in Kyria's head, but we'll have someone else too ;)  
> Guess who?
> 
> Anyway, don't forget to leave your opinion, comment, subscribe, kudos, anything you want!  
> See ya!


	4. Chapter 4: The Bastard of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright so Kyria is a mess, I think we all get that now. Now let's see the opinion of another character.  
> Back to the sweet brother ^^ with a little fury surprise at the end ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> It's been a little while I know. I'm sorry for that. But, I did warn you about my strange and unequal publishing!  
> Anyway, I really hope you will enjoy this chapter. I kind of like it, myself, it may be one of my favorites in all the story. You may also notice that I figured how long this story will be ^^. Or at least this part!  
> We will now officially have 15 chapters!  
> It may change in the future but for now this is what we are working with!  
> Also, I may already have said it, but I'm not english, so there might be some mistakes in the text. Usually I use a logiciel to correct my text but I can't do that right now for numerals reasons and I don't remember if this thing had been corrected already... So sorry if you find any mistake :/  
> I hope you'll enjoy your reading and I'll be back at the end of the chapter!

**End of the Year 296, Year 297**

**Jon**

He didn’t understand. One second she was there, talking to Robb, making things right between them and the next she was on the floor, lips moving without any words and eyes as white as snow.

“Kyria!”

“What’s happening!?” he asked descending from his horse.

Robb was already there, his hand on Kyria's neck, gently shaking her to wake her up. 

“Kyria! Kyria talk to me!” he said frenetically.

Jon knell next to them, not sure how he could help. Her face was pale and her eyes white. Like they had roll inside their socket.

Her lips keep moving. But no sound came out of her mouth. Suddenly, Jon realizes something. Was she having one of her vision? Was this what it looked like?

"Jon, help me!" asked Robb as he moves his sister away from the horses. 

The young men do as said and gripped her sister’s legs, along with the dress. Together they pull her away, from the beasts that keep knocking the dirt under their feet. Once in a safe distance, Jon went to grab the horses before they get any ideas of abandoning them.

Just as he came back, Kyria blinked and her eyes rolled back to their rightful place.

“Kyria!” they called at the same time.

Kyria looked at them. She seemed disturbed. Absent maybe.

They keep trying to get her attention, to understand what just happened, but she didn’t say a word. She blinked lazily and looked at their faces.

Then her lips moved again, as she looked between his and Robb’s head.

“And so he spoke..." she mumbled suddenly.

Jon looked at Robb. Was she singing?

“Is that a song?” asked Robb.

“I don’t know...”

“And… now the blood… splash through those halls..."

Jon exchanged an alarmed glance at his brother.

“For… every soul here to see…” she mumbled.

Jon fell the blood leave his face. It felt like one of her vision.

 _Blood splashing through the floor._ He remembers having read something like this on her lists about her dreams. But what worried him more was the last bit. For every soul to see… What did she mean by that?

He had a bad feeling about this thing.

“Kyria? Kyria talk to me!” said Robb.

She blinked. Multiple times and looked at Robb. Something seems to have changed. 

“Robb...” she said.

Robb sighed in relief and hug his sister. Jon's eyes stayed a long moment on his white knuckles against Kyria's cape. He was too far from them to see clearly, but he could have sworn he saw his hand trembling. He didn't comment.

They rode back immediately. Robb attached Kyria’s mare to his own horse and put her in front of him for their trip back to Winterfell. Jon followed them dutifully, brooding along the way. He couldn’t help but think about what just happened. Was it one of her visions?

Just thinking about it moved something inside him. Something scared. For Kyria first, but… he didn’t like to think of it but a part of him was kind of scared of her too. Of what was this she saw.

His eyes went back on Kyria’s small form. She looked so small against Robb's large form. Jon suddenly felt stupid. Of course, she looked small. She was still a child. Only three and ten, almost two years younger than him.

She was still a little girl. He used to be slightly amused to see her being as tall as Sansa, who was three years younger. 

Since the fall he often forgot how young they were with all of those conversations, always so serious.

Well… dreaming of blood and death and monsters every night might have changed her a bit. 

Kyria didn't say a word. They put the horses in the stables, went to her chamber without hearing her speak. She merely let them walk her around gazing absent-mindedly in the empty. She merely blinked when Jon close her door behind him. Robb sat her in her bed and kneel in front of her.

“How are you feeling? Do you need us to fetch Maester Luwin?”

Kyria blinked and look at him.

“...No. I just… I only need some rest.”

He sighed and looked at Jon. Jon looked at his boots.

“What happened Kyria. Can you explain it to me? What- what were you mumbling?”

She didn't answer. But she looked at Jon. Jon looked back, and almost took a step back. Her eyes looked almost empty. Like there was nothing inside. She blinked and turned away.

Jon hesitated. Should he tell Robb? It wasn’t his place but… maybe he should. He knew Robb to be stubborn. He won’t let it go that easily. Especially if she keeps behave strangely like that. 

"Kyria," he said again. 

She looked at him.

“… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Something happened.”

“I- I don’t know.”

Jon starts talking. He didn't think at the end. He opened his mouth and explained everything to Robb. The dreams, the visions, their quest. Everything. Robb didn't understand at first. So Jon shows him the lists Kyria had made for him when she first talked about it. 

He read them carefully. Then look back at her.

“Why… why didn’t you tell anyone?” he finally asked.

Kyria looks at him. "I… I don't know. I never could.”

He frowned.

“I tried to tell Mother… or Father or Maester Luwin but every time the words were like trapped in my throat.”

Robb looks away, thoughtful.

“What happened… this was one of those visions?”

She nodded.

“Gods that was scary Kyria. Your eyes, what you were saying… This… this can’t happen again.”

“What would you want me to do? I don’t like it! I don’t want it! But I have no choice. I can’t control it!”

“I get that but we can’t let this happen again! What if you’re alone next time? What if you fall from your horse again, or in the stairs, of from a tower! You could get hurt Kyria! Or die!”

“I know but I can’t do anything about it! I can’t control it!”

Robb sighed and sat next to her. He runs a hand through his hair and looks back at Jon. 

“We have to understand what this is.”

“What do you think we were trying to do?” bite back Jon just as frustrated.

He keeps thinking, rubbing his chin with his hand. Jon sat on a chair and pull off his cape.

“And what about Old Nan?” asked Robb.

Jon and Kyria exchanged a glance. 

“Old Nan?”

“Aye. She has those stories...”

"About the old ages?" asked Jon. "What does it have to do with this?"

"She talked about something the other day. You must remember Jon, the story about the Children of the Forest and their powers."

"Yes, the things with the Dorne's Arm and the Neck. But still, a legend about moving water is different from a vision about… whatever they are about."

“Aye I know but maybe the thing about the green seer is different.”

“Greenseer?” asked Kyria.

“Being with the ability to see the future, I think.”

“You think… I’m seeing the future?” asked Kyria in disbelief.

She didn’t seem to like the idea. Jon wasn’t fond of it either. It didn't make any sense. How could she be able to see the future in those visions? They didn't even understand what they could possibly mean!

“That’s insane...”

"We don't know. It doesn't hurt to talk to her," said Robb.

He looked deadly serious.

“I don’t-” started Kyria.

She didn’t continue her sentence. She frowns and didn't say anything else. 

“Let’s go.” ordered the heir.

His siblings didn’t complain. They found the old woman in the room close to the nursery, where the smaller children kept to play inside, under her watchful eyes.

Rickon was there too, happily playing with some wooden toys. He offered them a wide smile as they entered the room.

"Hello, Rickon." salute Kyria with a little bow. 

The boy giggles and hug her legs. Robb offered them a tight smile and went directly to the old servant. 

“Nan, can we talk to you?” he asked politely.

"What a silly question. You already are," she responded, her voice trembling with age. "The real question young Lord is: what is it you want to talk with me so badly you have to ask a silly question?"

Robb blushed and sat in front of the lady. Jon did the same, curious to see how this conversation was going to be. Kyria sat too, and Rickon didn't wait to climb her knees, his faithful wooden knight holds tight in his small fist. 

“Nan… we would like to ask you about the green seers?”

“Aah” sighed the old woman her eyes lighten with a bright spark. “the greensight! My, my children wouldn't you be interested in the tales of the Old times?"

"We are, Old Nan," responded Jon. "We'd like to understand more of it."

“Very well.” responded the servant. “Sit closer my sweet Summer children, and let Old Nan tell you about the Green Dreams.”

_The greenseers were the Wise and Powerful Leaders of the Children of the Forest, back in the old Age. They were truly Powerful being, capable of the greatest prodigies. Our mere legends do not tell How Powerful they could be, but We know for a fact their magic change and patterned our World._

_The Greenseers were gifted with many powers. We know about them from the tales shared by the First Men at the Dawn Age and the War that opposed the Children of the Forest with the First Men. They could see everything from the eyes of the faces they carved on the trees, they could use their magic on Nature itself, commanding the Wind and the Sea. They were the reason why Westeros and Essos are now two distinct lands. They tried to do the same with the South and the North of Westeros, but the Gods don't allow mortal being to control what was their domain._

_The Greenseers could melt their own mind with one of their animals. They could do many things._

_When the War ended, the Children and the First Men became allies. Somehow, some of the Powers of the Children melt with the First Men's blood. Some say it was due to marriage and mix between moth species, other suspects it is due to the faith the First Men soon shared of the Old Gods._

_Anyway, when The First Stark came, with Bran the Builder and became the Kings of Winter, it is known their blood was thick with Magic as was The blood of the Children of the Dawn Age._

_The Kings of Old Times were always accompanied by a beast as powerful as they were. The said Beast became the Sigil of their House:_

_The Direwolf._

****

Jon listened carefully to the tale of the old woman. He often looked at Kyria, founding her paler every time.

Old Nan’s voice grew quiet, and the young Stark exchange glances. Within a couple of silent minutes, Nan talked again.

****

"Well, then children? Is your curiosity satisfied?"

****

Robb looked at Jon who looked right back. Both of them looked at their sister who stays silent. 

****

“I think so...” said Robb unsure. “Thank you Old Nan.”

****

The woman hummed and look closely to each of the young visages presented in front of her. Jon wondered what she could be looking for.

After an uncomfortable minute, she nodded again and shake her hand.

****

“If that is all, don’t you have other things to do children?” she says almost impatiently.

****

The three of them, use as they were to obey their old nurse's command abruptly stood up and excuse themselves. Rickon hugs their legs one more time then go back to his games. 

As they exit the room, Kyria gripped Jon’s arm strongly.

They isolate themselves into the library, at the usual table Jon and Kyria use to occupy during their endless afternoons of research.

****

"Are you alright Kyria?" asked Robb at his sister's pale cheeks. 

****

She merely nods her eyes lost in the wood of the table. 

****

“What is it?” asked Jon.

****

“I- Oh what she described. It’s… It’s too close of those dreams for my comfort.” she tried to explain. “And when she spoke of Direwolves...”

****

“What of it?” asked Robb.

****

"I don't know. I can't explain it... It's as if I could… I could almost see them."

****

“See what? The Direwolves?”

****

She nodded.

****

"Are you sure about this?" asked Jon.

****

“What do you mean?” she said looking at him.

****

Something in the tone of her voice warns Jon to be careful with what he was about to say.

****

“I know you want answers as I do. But, are you sure this is how you feel about this?”

****

“I don’t know.”

****

“Because if you are...”

****

"I know what it means if what I see is… is about our future."

Jon’s mind went immediately at the first dream she related in her lists. The one with the head rolling…

He didn’t like the perspective of it being true. Not at all in fact.

"We can't be sure anyway," said Robb after a time. "But if it is true… I don't like it."

"None of us do Robb," responded Kyria.

“What should we do then?”

"There is only one thing to do," she said again, looking at them with a seriousness that squeezes Jon's throat.

“We must prepare.”

“For what? For when?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that if any of the things I dreamed of are true, we must prepare for the worst.”

“Hope for the best prepare for the worst," repeated Robb pensively.

Kyria smiled.

“Exactly.”

“And how do we know how to prepare? You are the only one with those visions.”

A spark lightens Kyria's eyes. Something a cat would have while eating the canary. Oh boy, he didn't like that look.

“You’ll have to do as I say brother dear.”

Oh boy…

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The month following that day was… strange to put it gently. When before there was only Jon and Kyria locked in the library for entire afternoons, Robb now joined them. The rest of the household didn't miss the opportunity to question this new habit. Some of them compared it to their childhood antics, those blessed times where it was hard to ever separate the three of them for more than an hour. 

Lady Catelyn was the less fond of this new arrangement, as she didn’t hide her contempt for the son of her husband, and found this new proximity with her own children most unwelcome. In one of his most bitter moments, Jon suspected it was more his presence around Kyria that bothered the lady than his friendship with Robb. He wasn't sure what the great lady had to say about it, but Jon tried to avoid her even more than he usually did, only coming in the same room as her when he has no other option. The household became quite used to see him take his meal in the kitchen.

They were not even doing that much in those times. They talked. They looked again and again for clues in the dreams Kyria shared with them and they talked about it, guessing, trying to understand as much as they could. Jon and Robb had both agreed they didn't want to know what dream Kyria could have about them if even that happened. She could advise them but not tell it. 

Something in the way she looked at them when Robb told her made Jon think she dreamed about them. That and her almost obsession over their education.

When they were not talking, Kyria made them read or debate on one book or another. Politics, Geography, tales of old battles, History of previous King both of the North and the Seven Kingdoms…

Many subjects in fact. Robb didn’t like them and Jon couldn’t say he was fond of the exercise. However, it was a subject Kyria didn't want to let go. 

One afternoon, She asks them to find her in the Godwoods. To their surprise, she wasn't alone. Lord Stark was there too, seated between the roots of the Heart tree, polishing slowly his great Valerian’s steel sword.

Kyria made a strange face, her eyes staying longer than necessary on the sword in their Father’s hands.

"Well, well, people," Ned observed with an amused glance at the three of them. 

"Hello, father." pipped Kyria. 

She sounded like a little girl. All eager and playful. 

Without another word she sat promptly on the floor and opened a book, Jon hadn't noticed she had with her. 

Robb looked at Jon and sat next to her. She didn’t wait a minute to start her lesson of the day. Jon sat with them and listened patiently, his eyes often founding one line or another of the book in her hands.

“What are you reading here ?” asked Father after some time.

“ Live of Four Kings.”

Ned blinked. Jon blinked too. Was it? He felt a bit bad, for not knowing the name of the book. Surely Kyria must have mentioned it…

Did she?

He should have paid attention.

“That is a strange choice...”

"I thought it could be interesting to see the things one might not do if he wants to rule and command people," Kyria explained patiently. 

Ned held out his hand, and she gave him the book. He looked at it with great attention. Flipping some pages and even read some lines.

“Yes… the Targaryen kings," he said pensively. "This is a rather complete work I dare say, with a lot of detail. But I fail to see the appeal for a young lady as yourself Kyria."

Why would Father said such a thing? Jon thought. Surely he must know Kyria's love for anything even slightly related to knowledge, of any kind. But something in his father's expression stopped him. He didn't look disappointed or judgmental as Jon's expected but rather… challenging. What did this mean? Why would he look like that?

Kyria didn't take offense of father's remark and merely smiled.

"I found it fascinating. On numerous point Father. It not only explain in great detail the War lead by Daeron the first in his quest for Dorne but also the politics behind his reign and the reason, according to Grand Maester Kaeth why his conquest failed. It also shows the power of the common folks in a realm and how their love for their Lord or King can change the face of a kingdom. Or a reign. With King Baelor, he was so loved no one could touch him without starting a riot. He was the most loved of the Targaryens.” she explained passionately. “And Aegon the Unworthy is the perfect example of what a King must not be! If one wants to rule, was it a kingdom or merely a Land, all he has to do is take all of Aegon's decision and do the exact opposite!"

Ned chuckled, merely amused by his daughter enthusiasm.

"Well, you do have a strong opinion of this book." Kyria nodded eagerly. "But why are you dragging your brothers in your reading? I'm not sure it is the kind of thing they want to do with their spare time."

"It's interesting Father. I asked Kyria to show this book to me," said Robb, a strange light in his eyes. 

Jon looked at him. He’s never been like that before. There was something different about him.

“Do you?”

Robb nodded. “Kyria told me about this book some times ago, and I asked her to show it to me. I’m about to be the next Lord of Winterfell, and I want to do it right. I thought learning a bit more about the past Targaryen kings and the way they lead their Kingdom couldn’t be so bad. It could hold some advice I may have not yet.”

Ned Stark blinked, clearly surprised and smile. The pride in his eyes was almost painful to see for Jon who felt dragged away in the shadows. 

"That's a good way of thinking Son. I didn't know you were that interested in politics, however."

"I'm ready to take everything I'm given to do a job as good as yours when the time comes," said Robb, his voice strong and assured. He looked like a Lord, thought Jon, swallowing back the bitter taste in his mouth. 

A small hand grabbed his own.

“And you Jon?” asked Lord Stark. “What do you find so interesting in this book?”

For one second, he didn’t know what to say. He looked back at the said book, still in his father’s hands, and remain speechless. Kyria pressed his hand. He was awful at lying. He couldn't lie to save his life. Why did he want to read this book? He only followed Kyria when she said he had to look at it. That they’ll look at it together. He might even learn something useful she said. But to what point?

He was no Lord, he wasn't going to inherit any lands or title. Nothing. He was a Snow. The bastard of Winterfell. What could he do with something like this?

Nothing. He’ll probably never use the knowledge Kyria was so eager to give him. Why did he even bother?

_Hope for the best prepare for the worst._

Yes… Robb had said that when they first talked about preparing for whatever may happen in Kyria's visions. Maybe this was the best?

“I- I wanted to prepare for… every eventuality.” he finally said with some hesitation.

Lord Stark hummed and nodded pensively. He looked at Jon right in the eyes for what felt like an eternity, looking for something maybe. Then his gaze dropped on the book still in his hands. 

“You know… when I was a boy, your grandfather made your Uncle Brandon read this book entirely. He said that was as good as any training he could give him.” Father said, his eyes lost in the cover of the book.

“He did?” asked Jon.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the Godwoods, with the book and Father. For a moment, Jon almost forgot about the outside world. He felt safe like he belonged here. Maybe it was the Godswoods, and the Old Gods themselves, their presence never as strong as in the place. Maybe it was Father's presence, his strong voice and Kyria's hand in his own, a reminder of his childhood days, where they use to spend entire days here, swimming in the pool or playing by the trees. When it was only him and Robb and Kyria. 

Jon couldn't say for sure, but for this moment, he felt truly at home. Something that intended to become rarer as he grew up and Lady Catelyn's eyes felt heavier on his back. 

They learn a lot of things, from Father that day. Jon wondered if this was the reason why Kyria loved so much to spend her time there, with Father. Did she often have those private lessons? He wondered…

He asked as they went to the dining room for their evening meal. Kyria smiled at him.

"Father is always more relaxed when in the Godswood. I discovered he likes to talk there, with the gods watching us. He's always more talkative about many subjects. We can talk for a long time there. And I use the opportunity to learn one thing or two when I have the chance."

"Clever," commented Robb with a smile. 

Kyria giggled.

During the following weeks, Robb and Jon did the same. They went to the Godswood and talked with their Father. Together or alone, it didn't really matter. They could enjoy his company in those times, and Jon didn't know for the other, but he felt like he needed those moments. In recent years, as he grew into a man, he and Father have driven away from each other. Robb needed to be trained to his future role and Lady Catelyn hated to see Jon spend time with them then. Those little trips to the godswood were good for this. 

Between their ‘lessons’ and the long discussion with Kyria, every other day, time went pretty quickly without any of them really paying attention. Until one day, Jon turned five and ten.

People started talking then.

It wasn't much. Some of the staff in the kitchen, or the maids in the corridor. It didn't even happen often. But it did, once or twice. The Great question was asked. 

_What will the bastard do? How long is he going to stay here?_

And he wondered too. More and more frequently. What was he supposed to do with his life? He wasn't naive to the point of believing he was going to spend all of his life under the roof to Winterfell. As much as he would've liked it, he knew he couldn't.

For once, Lady Stark was not going to tolerate his presence for the rest of her life. He’ll be too much of a disgrace. And even if she did, he couldn’t stay. He’d already spend all his life under his brother shadow. As much as he loved him, he knew he couldn’t spend the rest of his days like this. He’ll grow crazy. Or worse, hateful. He didn't want to hate his brother. He didn't want to be a burden or a shadow between the walls of the keep. He needed to be his own man. To prove himself, and make his own name. To be something else than Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. 

As so, he often thought about his uncle Benjen, and the Wall. He could go there. The wall was a place where you could make a name of your own. Start everything over again. Protect the realm. Everything he could dream of. Everything he could not have here.

Maybe that was the answer he was looking for. Maybe that was what he could do? After all, he didn’t have much of a choice. He didn’t want to be what everyone was saying about bastards. He wanted to be himself. The Wall could do that. And no one was to judge him up there. He’ll have a purpose. He’ll belong somewhere. Somewhere who’s not another’s home or place. He’ll have a new family.

Brother of the Night Watch. He could almost picture it, in his head as he lay, alone in the night. 

“Oh for the love of the gods old and new wouldn’t you just shut up!”

“You shut up Sansa!”

Oh dear.

No matter how many changes occurred in his life, one thing seemed to be doomed to remain the same apparently.

Jon wasn't sure if this was only him or if something had changed, but this last few weeks have seen a great deal of Sansa and Arya infamous bickering. Way more than what they usually were. Which already said a lot. 

The saddest thing about all of this, they didn’t even know what it was about most of the time. Only that they liked to drive each other mad. Often.

"I swear to all the gods I know if either of you says ONE MORE WORD I will drown her in the first water well I found, no matter who's around!" exploded Kyria.

Well some of them had more trouble supporting it than others thought Jon with amusement. My, my and some thought she was the calm sister... The boy snorted and went back to his training. Not his business. And he didn't want to have anything to do with what was happening there. He liked to think about it as a survival instinct. 

Later, when Jon came back to his room, he found an unexpected visitor. Under his furs...

Why did his bed look so… not empty?

As he pulls it out, a pair of big dark eyes looked right back at him with all the innocence they could master. Which, for a child of nine was way too many.

“Arya? What are you doing here?”

The girl sits on his bed, looking all grumpy and pouting like the little shit she was sometimes. Very often in fact.

“I wanted to spend some time with you.”

“In my bed?”

She blushed. Jon almost did. That sounded disturbingly weird.

He didn’t need to think much to guess what she was doing here.

“You were hiding?”

Her face reddened, and Jon could almost start to count down in his head.

"It's not my fault! Sansa keeps bothered me all the time! With her pretty dress and pretty things! Like she was better than me! Always criticizing me like she knew everything and I was too stupid to understand! She's- she- ARGH!" 

… Why him? He didn't know anything about girls even less about their moods. He was good with a sword that's all! 

“I-” he tried, but he didn’t know what to say.

Talking wasn’t really his thing.

Frustrated, Arya throws her arm over her head and fall back in his fur. 

Jon sits close to her and lets her speak. She complained a lot. Then move on. They spoke about many things. It was always easy to speak with Arya. She thought like him. Of all their siblings, she was the one who resembles him the most. In traits, coloring, and character. They were the outcast. The different ones. He didn't notice they were falling asleep until they were.

A loud sound coming from his door woke him up. Lady Catelyn stood at his doorstep, her eyes locked in Arya' silhouette sprayed on top of his chest. The look of horror on her face made his throat ache. 

“Lady Stark...”

“Arya. Get up," she ordered, ignoring the bastard boy. 

The little girl didn't move. Jon tries to shake her shoulder but the angered gaze the noble Lady put on his hand stopped him. Jon bites his cheek. 

“Arya," she repeated louder. 

This time, his sister heard it. She jumps from him and fell off the bed in a mess of limbs and dress and surprised squeals. 

“M-mother!”

“Arya go to your room. This is no place for a young lady.”

The child must have felt the tension in the room, as for once she didn't protest at her mother's orders. She sends Jon an apologetic look and passes the door, head pushed between her shoulders.

Once alone with the lady, the tension between them almost chock his breath away. Lady Stark gaze seemed to want to crush him like an insect.

Jon didn't know if he was supposed to talk or to wait for her to start with whatever reproach she had for him. Her lips were white, pressed together as if she wanted to make them disappear. 

“You...I want you to leave.”

Jon’s heart beat a little faster inside his chest.

“Lady Catelyn.”

"You're not a child anymore. I don't care where you go but I want you to leave. Do you understand me? can't suffer your presence in my home any longer. I won't.”

“… Yes, lady Catelyn."

“Leave," she said again before turning her heels and disappear on the corridor. 

Her footstep sounded like a knell for him. He always knew she wanted him gone. She didn’t hide it. But now it was different. She just literally ordered him to go.

Not for the first time, Jon wished he’d been born from this woman. If only he wasn’t a bastard. Maybe she could’ve loved him. Only a little bit. How many times did he wish she'd take him in her arms, as she does with Robb, or Kyria or Bran. How many times did he pray for a mother? 

But he was the Bastard of Winterfell.

Jon thought about it for days, without knowing what to do. He thought about talking with Robb or Kyria but quickly dismissed the idea. He knew what they would way. This was not what he needed to hear. 

After another long week of reflection, Jon went to his father’s solar. He still had made no decision, but he needed answers. He had waited far too long for it. He found the door almost closed, and Lord Stark already in the middle of a discussion.

“- I don’t care Ned. This boy will leave.”

“Jon is my blood. He is my responsibility and I don’t intend to let anyone decide his fate.”

“This bastard stayed here long enough. He is almost a man now and way too close to my girls. I don’t like him lurking in the corner like some kind of shadow. I don’t want him near my children anymore, do you hear me? I don’t want that boy in my roof. I let you keep him as he was still a child but enough is enough. ”

"Good gods women what do you think he could do to the children. He loves them."

"I. Don't. Care. Ned. I won't have that boy near my children doing the Seven only know what all day. He already spends way too much time with Kyria and with her state… I don't want that bastard poisoning her fragile mind. He already is too close to her and now with Arya is following his example... My girls won't be tamed by a wild bastard of the north."

"Cat, again with that? Those girls are from the north, Arya is almost the vivid image of her aunt, no one will change her, not even you. As for Kyria, she is too old to be melded as a true lady as you did with Sansa, and you know it."

“Don’t cross me here Ned!”

“No. You can have a lot of things for me but don’t touch my blood. I warn you Cat.”

The room fell silent for a while. Jon holds his breath.

“Fine. I leave you then my lord.”

The boy hastily steps back from the door and hide in a corridor close. Lady Stark walked past him without noticing, her face frowned in discontent. Gods.

Ignoring his trembling hands, Jon took a deep breath, and knock-in his Father’s door.

“Yes?”

Jon slipped inside Lord Stark's solar. Ned looked up, his face relaxed when he recognized Jon. The young boy- no the young man, pitched on his heels, then went closer to his father's table.

“Jon. Why are you here?”

He hesitated. He didn’t know what to do. Lost, he looked to his father’s eyes, searching for an answer. Like always when Ned Stark was looking at him, there was this strange light in the back of his eyes. He looked… not sad exactly but… Jon couldn’t describe it even if he tried.

Nostalgia maybe? Longing? Whatever it was, Jon knew it was because of the only thing Jon wanted to know.

His mother. No matter what, when Lord Stark, or Lady Stark, or the servants… everyone was looking at him, they were looking for his mother. Trying to know who she was, or remembering her through his traits. 

It was as if he didn't exist. Not really. He was just something like a mirror for others to think about his mother. He didn't know her, but his entire life was about her. Her and father's mistake. Dishonor. 

Even when he looked at his reflection on the mirror, he was asking the same question then everyone else. Who was she? 

Only Father knew.

“Lord Stark… I’m five and ten.”

Ned didn’t respond. He looked at Jon, waiting for the rest.

“I- I’m almost a man and- You said you would tell me when I was ready. I think I am now. I want to know.”

“Who is your mother.” Lord Stark guessed.

Jon nodded. Ned sighed and dropped his gaze. There it was. Longing. Sadness?

All those emotions he didn't understand. If only he had an answer. Who was she? Was she alive? Did she think about him sometimes? Did she love him? Why didn't he saw her? Ever? 

He wanted to know. He needed to.

“I have to know. I’m-” Jon sighed. He didn’t know what to say. But he wanted to know.

Ned Stark rubbed his forehead, eyes lost in the papers on his desk. He looked conflicted.

“Can we talk about this later Jon? I have many things to think about now and-”

And What?

“I don’t want to think about this now.”

Jon bit his lip, hot anger bumping through his vein. Of course. Not now. It’s not the right moment. But then, when was it? The right moment. Tomorrow? In ten years? Never? It was always the same thing. But not today. He needed those answer and be damned if he didn’t get them. The young man, looked at his father, straight in the eye. If he couldn’t have a name, maybe he could have something else.

“Does she love me?”

“Jon-”

"Father. I- I'll ask nothing else. I only want to know if she… if my mother loves me."

Gods he hated how desperate he sounded. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, Jon felt like he was going to explode. He maintained contact with his father's gaze. He couldn't let go of it, not until he had his answer. 

Finally, after a long, long time, Ned Stark opens his mouth again. 

"Yes, Jon. She loved you. She loved you more than anything else in this world. More than life itself. She would have done anything for you."

A rush of feeling invaded Jon's chest. A thousand more question rushed through his head, who was she, why did she abandon him, why did he never heard of her… But his lips stayed close. Lord Stark's face closes up, any feeling he could have express recluse deep inside his heart. 

“I have work to do Jon. We'll talk later."

Jon exit the room, a weak "yes father" on his way. He walked slowly on the corridors, a blank veil covering his thought. He didn't know what to think about this conversation.

His mother loved him. When he was born, he had been loved by someone. Like Robb was loved by Lady Stark. 

It only occurred to him, much later that day, that Father had spoken of the past. With this same longing in his eyes, as he had said those few words. 

_She loved you. More than life itself. Would have done anything..._ Loved, not love. Meaning she didn't anymore. _More than life itself._ More than life. Life... Some tears felled from his eyes, as a bitter realization came to his mind, like evidence. 

His mother was dead. He would never meet her. He could never ask why she had abandoned him, why she had left him alone in this world. Now he knew the answer. She didn't leave him. She died. A bitter thought came to his mind. Did she die in childbirth? Did he- Did he killed his mother to come to the world? Was it the reason why his father took him with him? He didn't know for sure. He didn't really want to know too. He couldn't bear it now. Not now. 

Maybe never.

As sleep finally claimed him, despite the wet puddle under his cheek, and the salt on his lips, he thought of Kyria. Did she know about this?

He didn't get the occasion of asking her about it for some days. He tried not to think too much about it. He didn't even ask in the end. It only came in the conversation one day, as he found her in the Godwoods. 

She had a strange expression on her face. Her eyes didn’t leave the face of the Heart tree.

“Kyria?”

She blinked and smiled at him. 

“Jon.”

“Are you alright?”

She merely nodded and looked back at the face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I made… a strange dream last night.”

Jon sat up, alarmed.

“A dream? Another vision?”

She shacked her head.

“Not exactly a vision… This one was different.”

“How so?”

She looked thoughtful.

"Usually… when I'm dreaming, I'm always… kind of present in the dream. Like the scene was happening in front of me. Except for no one never pay attention to me." she explained. "like some kind of play. I'm a spectator. But this time… I was… I think I was one of the things in my dream.”

Jon frowned.

“And what was it?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Would you… would you tell it to me? Maybe I could help?”

She looked at him.

“Maybe...” she took her time, gathering her thought, before opening her mouth. “ At first there was nothing. Only darkness and this strange feeling of… I don’t know safety maybe? Then I heard something around me. It sounded a bit like… whimpers I think? You know those little noise a baby pup make sometimes? I didn’t see anything really, but… there was something warm moving around me. Multiple something I think. And, at some point, something licked me.”

“Licked you?”

She nodded and touched her head. "there. Once or twice. And I felt warm and hungry and… I didn't think much, in fact, I only wanted..."

“What?”

“I wanted milk.”

Jon blinked, surprised.

“Milk?”

She nodded again her pretty nose winced in disgust.

“But you hate milk.”

"I know! I don't understand what it means."

“We should talk about it with Robb," said Jon.

Kyria smiled.

“Why? Do you think he will know better than us?”

Jon shrugged.

“He knew about old Nan. And the greenseer.”

“True...”

She looked back at the tree.

“Is there… something else?”

"I'm not sure… It's just- When Old Nan tells us about the greenseers and the Children… do you remember what she said about the Stark of Old times?"

“She said a lot of things about them.”

“Yes I know but- I was thinking of the Direwolves.”

“What of it?”

"I don't know there's something… When she spoke of the Direwolves, there was something that keeps coming into my head, every time I thought about it. About us three..."

“What do you mean?”

“When I thought about you. About what you did to help me… There was one thing that came back, again and again...”

“What is it?”

“White Wolf.”

White wolf?

“What does it mean?”

Kyria laughed.

"That's the thing, Jon. I don't know. I don't know anything."

Jon could say he knew more than her… What a mess.

They told Robb the following evening. He didn't know either. 

Jon didn’t talk about his own discovery. He didn’t know how and it wasn’t that important anyway. This was possibly about their future. No one needed Jon’s past in the equation.

“Maybe someone will knock at our door with an entire litter of direwolves for young Stark in wanting?” he joked.

They laughed. That would have been fun.

A couple of weeks later, exactly one year after Kyria’s fall as oddly as it was, they didn't laugh anymore. 

Things were beginning to be really, really strange…

The day started like any other day. Well, Lady Catelyn spends a good hour fussing around Kyria like a true mother hen, in case something might happen to her, and Sansa seemed particularly reluctant to let her big sister out of her sight. They spend the entire Fast glued to one another. To a point on don't think neither ate that much... Which may be a little exaggerated...isn't it?

But, other than that, everything was perfectly normal. Ish.

As he and Robb were training Bran in the courtyard Bow and arrow in hand when they were joined by their sister, Kyria wisely in the middle. She did that often recently, a good way to minimize the conflicts between the younger girls.

“Go on Bran.” said Jon with a smile, “ you have an audience.”

“Go one Bran!” cheer Kyria from her spot.

“Do you think he can hit the target?" asked Arya with excitation.

“I'm sure he can," said Kyria with confidence.

He didn’t. Robb and Jon laughed. Lord Stark chastised them from his spot on one of the catwalks, Lady Stark silently eyeing them next to him. 

“And which one of you was a marksman at nine?” asked Ned. “Go on Bran.”

Kyria laughed, and clap in her hands.

“I still don’t understand why we have to go here," said Sansa.

“Well its a change from our little sewing sessions," responded Kyria good naturally.

“Is it?”

"If you don't like it you can still leave," grumbled Arya.

"Don't start," warned Kyria.

Both girls huffed but didn't say anything else. See. Efficient.

Arya didn't wait long to show her own skills with a bow and the session ended up with the younger children chasing one another all around the courtyard under their laugh. Sansa even smiled. A thing rare enough around Jon for him to notice it. It was a shame so, she had a pretty smile. Like her mother, he thought sadly. 

It was kind of hypocritic of him to think so, as he wasn't exactly a happy-go-lucky fellow himself and had this tendency to spend way to much time sulking in a corner, but he felt Sansa at least had many more reasons to smile than him. He wasn't the cherished daughter of a Lord Paramount after all.

But anyway.

Once the little ones seated down, Father announced the execution of a deserter of the Night Watch. He had to go execute him and asked for Robb Jon and Bran to accompany his journey. Lady Catelyn looked clearly unhappy at the idea.

But Lord Stark had decided Bran was old enough to face death, and so he was.

The execution itself was just as quick and solemn as every other one Jon assisted. The poor soul was rambling strangely all along, but he didn't pay it attention, his eyes more focused on Bran than anything else. It was his first time after all. 

The boy took it well. Jon was impressed. 

Then, on the road back, they found the dead Stag. Jon immediately felt something strange. It was almost instinctive. A kind of apprehension, like something, was about to happen. Usually, Jon didn't think much about those things. Even if his recent experience with Kyria and her dreams had changed a bit his vision of those things (magic, and what not), he was still what might be called septic. He was raised with tales of Magic and Ancient heroes, but for him, this was something of the past. Something long gone. 

However, as they came in front of the corpse of a giant Wolf, in the middle of the woods, with six pups hungrily sucking its milk, he started to question his belief.

As Bran looked almost adoringly at one puppy Robb just put in his arms, both older brothers exchange a stupefied glance.

“How old are they?” asked Jon with a trembling voice.

Ser Rodrick and Jory Cassel looked at the pups seriously.

"We can't be sure, Direwolves has not been seen south of the Wall for years. But, as they have their eyes closed I dare say...maybe a couple of weeks. Not much more.”

Robb looked back at Jon, his neck creaking painfully with the move. A couple of weeks… Kyria had her strange dream exactly eighteen days before this… Could this be…?

Jon couldn’t even formulate it in his head. It was too much.

Robb didn't say anything. Jon was glad for it as he didn’t know what to say either. They looked at each baby that Jon and Bran grabbed from under their mother with a mix of awe and disbelief. Jon couldn't wrap his mind around what those pups meant to him. To Robb, to Kyria. 

In his head, the words of Kyria’s lists resonate again and again, no longer an enigma, but more of an omen. A dark omen… He could almost hear them inside his head. Like a broken tune. Suddenly, Jon desperately wanted those pup to be a dream. A coincidence. Anything that meant Kyria hadn't dreamed them. That her dream couldn't become real. 

But he knew, dip down, those pups were the proofs they were waiting for. The coincidence was too great. For Kyria to react at the mention of Direwolves next to the Stark of Ancient times. For her to dream about warm tongue and little whimper around something equally small. Close to something bigger, warmer…

She had dreamed of those pups. Somehow she had dreamed of being one of those pups. 

The only thing Jon could feel glad for was that at least those pups will prove to his sister that her dream is not a manifestation of some kind of madness invading her mind. She was sane. Just extraordinary gifted. Those little things were going to prove it to her. 

Then, just as Jon was slowly calming himself and trying to find a way to deal with the discovery, he found the seventh one. A little pup, as white as fresh snow, and as silent as a ghost.

His heart stopped.

"The runt of the litter!" Theon mocked behind him "That one's yours, Snow."

Jon felt a cold chill on his back. His eyes were locked to the pup’s red ones. The only one with eyes opened. Every single one of Kyria’s words echoed inside his head, from the day she told him everything.

_I think of something every time I look at you._

_What is it?_

_White Wolf_

“White wolf...” he said out loud.

The pup’s nose twitched and his tiny tail waved on his back. He wiggled on his hand and Jon pull him close. His little tongue immediately attacked his chin with enthusiasm.

The heat of his little body didn’t warm up Jon’s frighted self.

Again, Jon looked at Robb. He had a pup on his arms, bigger than Jon's and who was just as enthusiastic in his greeting of what seemed to be his new master. His brother's face was pale. Jon didn't have to look at him in the eyes to know the same thought was on their minds.

Jon stayed pensive for all their travel back to Winterfell. Robb glanced at him several times, looking as lost as he was. The three pups the young lord took with him were sleeping in a bigger ball of fur between his legs. He kept them secure with one of his hands. 

When they entered the courtyard of the castle, Kyria was waiting for them. Her flushed face lights up at the sight of the baby direwolves in their arms. She almost jumps into Robb, who keeps his eyes on the babies. 

“What have we here?!” she chirped with excitement.

"Direwolves," responded Father. "Call your siblings Kyria, Robb will explain everything."

Kyria executed, without losing her smile even for a minute. Her gaze finds Jon's. He tried to smile to her but he didn't really share her enthusiasm. She looked at the white little ball in his arms and her smile shade off a little. Multiple emotions crossed her face in one second. Too many for Jon to understand them all. A tear escaped as she ran to the others. Why was she crying?

In the blink of his eye, Jon found himself in lord Stark’s solar, with every one of his siblings happily chatting around the babies. The pups were all rolled in a pile of little furballs, whining a little and sniffing each other’s fur.

Robb already had his on his laps, and Jon’s little white ball was stubbornly hidden in his neck.

Robb explained how there was one pup for everyone. Arya immediately eyed Jon’s white one.

“Don't think about it Arya," said Kyria, an exited Rickon flapping on her lap. "This one is Jon's."

“How do you know? Maybe he’ll like me better!” responded the little girl, a fierce expression on her face.

She looked ready to try the challenge.

“He seems to like Jon just fine." noticed Bran, the closer to the wolves. 

She just made one step in his direction when Ghost snaps his head and looked at her.

“Oh Her eyes!” squealed Sansa, looking slightly frightened by the red orbs of the baby.

“It's a male," said Jon, not looking at the redhead girl. 

“He's an albino" explained Kyria.

“He looks scary." pouted the redhead.

“He looks fierce!" said Arya, reaching out to grab the pup.

The little thing climb higher on Jon’s neck and try to hide inside his hair.

Theon, still in the room laughed brightly.

"Look at that! He likes your hair as much as you Snow! You _are_ the perfect match after al"

Jon ignored him.

Kyria giggles at the disappointed expression on her sister's face. The pup was pretty clear in his choice of human. 

It didn't take long for every Stark child to chose his own pup. Bran grabs the light brown baby who yawned at the attention and nested closely in his arms. He looked more proud than anything Jon ever saw in him. Rickon decided the black one was to be his, and hastily jumped out of Kyria's lap. The little thing grabbed the boy's finger in his small jaw and chewed on it with determination. Not hurt for one bit, the little boy giggled. 

The quiet little she-wolf won Sansa's heart with one flip of her little tail. Obviously, Arya put all her attention on the wild one. The pup scratched her hand when she tried to hold her. Arya giggled and keep her close to her. Strangely, seeing that her attempt to escape failed, and that this little human was still determined to stay close to her, she calms down, and let the girl do as she pleased.

As for Kyria, once Rickon deserted her knees, she sits on the floor, in front of the last pup. He was a shade lighter than Robb's one, and his eyes were still closed, as the majority of his litter. Without a fuss, he let himself being held by the girl's gentle hand. She held him in front of her face and looked at him with Stars in her eyes. 

After a moment, she smiled.

"Hello, Frost," she whispered with the sweetest voice Jon ever heard from her. “ I was waiting for you."

Just like before, Jon couldn’t miss the tears falling from her eyes. And just like the last time, he didn’t know how to interpret it.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wolves are heeeeeere!!!  
> I LOVE the Direwolves. They are the best of the best and they deserve so much more love than what we had in the show! And in intend to give them that!
> 
> So what do you think? Good? Bad? Go to hell we don't care? Tell me! I want to know your opinion :3  
> As everyone is aware I am sure, September is getting closer and closer and soon I'll have to go back to College (or, well Université in my native French) so I have no idea when the next chapter will be, But I'll let you know!  
> Anyway, see you soon guys!


	5. Chapter 5: Farewell Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Well, everything is in the title! We say goodbye to someone here!  
> We also have a little realization coming from one of the siblings. If not all of them now that I think about it...  
> And Dear Kyria made a loud entry in the wonderful world of adulthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! It's been a while I know. I'm sorry. Even if I did warn you about my... sporadic way of publishing, I can't help but feel bad about it... I try my best I swear! But I do have a lot to do now that September arrived...
> 
> As for the chapter itself, well most of you must have guessed what is about to happen. If you don't I'm not going to spoil the plot! We are slowly going through the important things that I need to put in place before the actual beginning of the show. With all the delightful characters we love to hate. You know whom I am talking about don't pretend ;)
> 
> Anyway, I'm done with my babbling now ;) I'll let you enjoy this piece of my little mind! See you at the end ;)

**CHAPTER 5: Farewell Brother.**

**Year 297 third month too sixth month.**

**Kyria**

One small week after the arrival of their beloved wolves, Jon announced it. He was going to the Wall. To take the Black.

The news came to them with a bunch of different reaction. The younger ones protested, of course. To say the boys were upset would have been the understatement of the year. Arya burned for hours in a rage Kyria didn't know her. It was almost frightening Robb looked resigned. He took Jon apart as quickly as he was able to and exchanged a long conversation with him, isolated in a corner.

Sansa didn't say anything. She looked at all of their faces, and dropped her eyes on her hands, quietly sited next to Kyria, like the perfect little lady she still liked to be most of the time. Her sister's council, if they helped smooth her relationship with her brothers, did not erase years of command from both the Septa and their mother. Also, the new addition of their little shadows did help her lose her countenance and act more like the child she still was, to Kyria great delight. That day happened to be one of those when she held her curtsey like a Septa her veil.

As for herself, Kyria gripped her dress in her fist and held her tears.

Since that day with Old Nan, and the revelation of what might certainly be her ability -or curse as she called it on her darker days- Kyria often felt a strange calmness invading her in her most incongruous moments. Something tasting oddly likes an inevitability.

She felt it the day Robb Jon and Bran came back with the pups. She felt it again when Sansa sighed dreamily at something Jeyne whispered in her ear, or when Arya sneaked out of her lesson to practice with a bow. And she felt it again when Jon, with a solemn face and tense shoulders, announced at everyone his intention to take the Black.

She didn't know how to explain it. She felt numb. Like a part of her mind was detached from her body to observe what was happening from outside. 

It was strange.

Father protested, of course. But Jon didn't flinch, arguing that he didn't felt like he belonged in Winterfell and he wanted to make a name of his own.

It was no mystery who was responsible for Jon's sudden decision. The beaming smile Lady Catelyn shown at the news was clear enough. The great Lady, in her joy not to have to suffer anymore the presence of her husband's biggest mistake give her more joy than Kyria ever saw in her face.

Unfortunately, her children, who loved their half brother didn't take well this display of happiness. Arya, the worst of them all, refused to even be in the same room than Lady Catelyn for an entire week. Mother, of course, blamed Jon. This made Kyria hoped for him, that Uncle Benjen wouldn't take long to come to get him. At least, up in the Wall, he won't have to endure her mother's cold glares.

Kyria didn’t like the idea of one of her brother away from their home. But she knew she couldn’t prevent it. Now that Jon had made his decision, nothing could convince him otherwise. She tried, of course. But Jon was stubborn when he wanted to.

"It's not your decision to make Kyria." he had said, voice firm and severe in a pretty accurate imitation of their father.

She had been impressed. Truly. Enough at least to let it go. She didn't want to alienate him by insisting again and again on the same topic. Even if she was dying to do so. She just had to hope for the best. And prepare for the worst.

As so, with a new determination in her eyes, she started to bully him in spending as much of his time as possible reading everything she could find that might help him. She dragged him almost every afternoon to the Godwoods, to talk with Father, and even requested special lessons from Maester Luwin, in subjects she knew Jon couldn't learn with Father, or in some books. She was determined to force some kind of knowledge inside this thick skull of his or die trying.

On top of her list, his communication skills.

Good gods, his communications skills...

“Why would I bother with this Kyria? I’m going to the Wall, not into some battle of wit or whatever you have in mind!”

"Jon, brother, as much as I love you, you're virtually unable to communicate like a normal human being." she cut him as he opened his mouth ready to complain, or refute, or whatever it was he wanted to say. "No, look, when something's wrong, you're brooding, when something makes you happy you're brooding, when someone walks on your foot you're brooding! Good gods, you even brood when you sleep! Don't deny it!" she ignored is outraged look and pull the last string in her argument. "And as cute as your puppy eyes can be, they won't work as well on the brothers of the night watch as they do with the cook. Or the maids. Or the old lady in the kitchen you beg sweets from. I saw you don't say otherwise. "

Robb laughed at this one, like the supportive brother he was. Jon looked upset, for one second. Then his face closes up in a pout they all knew well. Kyria's finger flew right under his nose with all the accusation she could put in it. Surprisingly, it was a lot. 

“There! See? I said something you didn’t like so you brood!”

“I’m not!”

Kyria fell her eyebrows twitch without her consent. The expression of her face must have speak for her, as Jon’s shoulders dropped, and he gave a tentative, resigned nod.

"So what are your precious councils oh dear Sister?" mocked Robb.

She glared but didn’t take the int. Or, well she tried not to.

“That goes for you too!”

...Yes, she failed not to. Nobody was perfect.

Then, before any of them could say anything, she proudly pulls a small book from out of nowhere. The thing looked old and a bit dusty, but the obvious fingerprint on the dirt of the cover shown a recent use. From Kyria, obviously.

"This little beauty is called ‘the art of manipulating your audience' and is marvelous."

"Manipulating?" they chorused in perfect synchronization.

She nodded proudly.

"I won't ask you to read all of the things, yet. But it does have a great council for the both of you"

"What is it?" grunted Robb.

"If you want to be listened to, learn to talk. If you want to learn to talk, learn to listen. If you want to learn to listen, ask the right question."

Jon blinked, then looked at Robb, who blinked back at him. They looked at her and blinked again. The pair of them looking remarkably like a pair of owls blinded by the sun. For a very arrogant minute, Kyria thought of herself as the sun. It didn't last, but she liked the image.

“What?”

Kyria said it again, but they didn't seem to get it better this time. She sighed and tried again.

“When you are talking to someone, what is the question you must always ask yourself?”

They look at each other and shrugged. Kyria tried not to be frustrated. Unlike her, they didn't read the book after all...

“What do you want?”

“Right now?” asked back Jon.

She didn't wait for him to answer this question...

“No, that's the question you must ask. What does this person want? What can I give them? If you give something in exchange for something else, then you're having a conversation."

“Seriously? That’s blackmail.”

“No, that’s politics Robb. You want something, then give something in return.”

“We don’t do that...” muttered her brother.

“Because you are good men. I think the worst thing you might do, is to assume everyone is as good and honorable as you two are. Or Father for what's matter." she takes a pause, a bittersweet voice whispering in her ear.

_Trust me. Trust me. I can give you what you want. Trust me, trust me..._

Frost nudged her hand with his little nose, and Kyria blinked away the memory.

"If those dreamed taught me something, its that people always want something from you. If we want to survive and prevent… prevent it, we must learn to understand what they want, more than what we want from them." she explained, more seriously.

At the mention of her dream, they stopped complaining. The conversation ended up there, but Kyria hoped her message had been heard. She was not sure of what was waiting for them, but she couldn't help but try to prepare Jon for his life away from them.

She wasn’t sure it will serve him. But at least she tried.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_She was alone, in the middle of a great plain. The grass was so high it touched her hips. The sun was bright and hot on her head._

_This was strange. She knew she was dreaming, just like her latest visions. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t the same. Something was different._

_She was alone. Completely alone in a sea of green. She looked around. But there was nothing. It was scary in a way. No tree, no road, no water, nothing. Just the sun and the grass._

_After a time, she heard them. Screams. Savaged screams coming from nowhere that made her heart beat faster and urged her to run._

_She runs. The screams were everywhere. Like they were following her. Each turn she takes, she heard them behind her. She tried to run faster but they were as fast, if not more. Coming closer and closer as she ran. The sound, away and hollow was now loud enough for her to recognize the human voice. But she didn't see anyone. There were only the screams._

_The beat of her heart was deafening. Suddenly, a rock catches her foot. She falls. She may have screamed too._

_Her breath was cut off. She gets on her knee._

_Red._

_There was red in her hands. Red on her skirt. Trembling, she raised a hand to her face._

_Red._

_Blood. With no one around. Blood on her thighs, on her hands, on her dress. Blood, blood, blood...Her blood._

She woke up with a startle. Her breath was heavy and quick. At the edge of the bed, Frost whined and put a tentative paw on her leg. His big eyes just opened looked even more pleading than what they use to be. His big ears, not unlike the wings of a bat were flat against his little face. His little nose keeps twitching like he was trying to smell something.

Hands trembling, she brushed off her face. Her cheeks were hot and wet. Had she cried in her sleep?

A pained stab on her belly made her yelp. Something was wrong. Another one put her back on her sheets. Frost yap and came to her face. He licked her cheek, making cute little noises to attract her attention on him. He jumped a little and came back to her, ears still lying on his head in what she thought was a concern.

"I'm Okay boy. I'm- ouch!"

Frost yelp again, and start howling. She panicked.

“No. Frost no, shhh. I’m okay boy, quiet.”

He ignored her plaid. She grits her teeth and tried again, more firmly this time.

“Frost. Quiet.”

Frost stopped and whined pathetically is yellow eyes huge and pleading. But it was too late. The other pups responded to their brother, much to Kyria shame.

Soon, she heard noises on the rooms around. Voices using the pups, wondering what the heck was happening, moaning about the late hour. Kyria bit her lips and hide her face on her pillow. Another pain picks crisped her shoulders. She swallowed back a moan. She had a pretty good guess of what might happening but she didn't want to think about it. Why couldn't she fall back asleep and forget about all of this night? As if to mock her, another pick of pain contracted her stomach. Good gods! No one told her it might hurt! She was half decided to give up and call her mother when someone knocks on her door.

“Kyria? Everything’s alright? Was it Frost who howled?”

Good gods Robb. Why does it have to be Robb!

Kyria almost moaned again. This was a nightmare.

Of course, just as she was thinking it, she felt something hot on her thighs. She made a small noise, at with Frost -of course – responded and throw out the sheets.

Oh, Gods.

The wolf starts passing again, almost constantly whining in distress. He yelps and scratched the sheets with his small claws. She shushed him, and stroke gently his head.

"It's alright, boy, it's okay…."

“Kyria?”

“I- I’m alright Robb.”

"You sure? Your voice is strange."

“Yes y-”

Another wave of pain stopped her. She must have made a noise because Robb started to turn the handle.

“No! I’m okay Robb I’m- Just don’t enter!”

“What’s happening in here?”

Gods as if the things weren’t bad already! Jon had to come too.

Her entire face flushed, she took back her sheets, trying to cover her legs end the mess on the mattress. Just in time, it seems, as the boys grew tired of waiting for her answers and open the door, despite her protestations.

Stupid boys.

Robb enters the first, quickly followed by Jon. Behind them, she even recognized the lighter head of Theon Greyjoy.

Great. Just wonderful.

“What part of I’m okay do you not understand?” she asked archly.

“You didn’t sound fine. What happened?”

“Nothing. Leave me alone!”

“Are you sure you’re alright Kyria? You look pale...” noticed Jon.

Robb looked at him, then at her again. Comprehension flashed in his eyes. Kyria wondered what he thinks he had understood.

“Did you had a nightmare?”

“No. Well yes- but”

“Is it why Frost look panicked?”

"No, I just- Would you both be sweet and go back to sleep please?"

“You can talk to us you know.”

“By the gods let it go Stark! Don’t you see the girl want you out of the room!” exclaimed Theon from the corridor.

For once she was happy to have him near.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion Greyjoy!”

“Kyria are you sure-”

"Yes, I'm sure Robb! Just- would you please go back to sleep?"

She may have just said that a little louder than what she'd plan to, as the boys took a step back. Well, that serves them well for annoying her in the middle of the night.

Even if it’s indirectly her fault, or rather her wolf’s fault. But who cares about details?

“Easy, easy, we’re going! Good gods what’s gotten into you tonight?” grumbled Robb as he went back to the corridor.

She ignored him, way too happy with them just leaving her in her own misery.

But of course, as nothing is ever that simple, her pain choose the second Jon was about to pass the door to make itself known again. This time, she did gasp. And of course, because he's the sweetheart he is, Jon went back, alarmed.

“Kyria?”

Robb’s head pocked again from her door. She could have growled at them. Wouldn't they just leave already!? She’d never get rid of them!

She pondered a moment, trying to find a way to make them leave and finally deal with her problem. She didn't even know how to deal with it but everything in its own time.

… Or she could- Well that'll work too…

"Alright, you want to help me? Would one of you go to search for Mother? I may need her help..."

"Mother? Why do you need Mother? We can help you too!" protested Robb, looking scandalized at the mere idea of being accused to not be able to help his little sister.

Gods were he dense.

"I don't think you can help Robb."

“Why?” asked Jon. He looked equally vexed. “Lady Stark didn’t even know about-”

"I don't know Jon do any of you know anything about moonblood?" she said, out of patience.

It was way too early to deal with fussy elder brothers. Was it one or the other.

Both boy's jaw hit the floor. They grew white, then red, then white again. Jon, braver, ran out of the room, vaguely spluttering how much he wasn’t needed here. Kyria vaguely wondered if his escape could be considered as cowardice or intelligence… Maybe both. Robb took longer to get over his shock, trying unsuccessfully to grab up his jaw still on the floor. He blinked, several times. So quickly she couldn’t even see his eyes for a moment.

Kyria would have laughed if her insides weren't trying to make a knot with her organs. Cause that was how it feels right now.

“Robb!”

“W-what?!”

“Mother. Please!”

Theon's roaring laughter accompanied Robb out of her room. Mother came only a minute later, in her night robe with her hair cascading on her shoulders. She looked tired and slightly amused. Robb was suspiciously nowhere to be seen. Thank the gods.

"Well, my girl you do know how to make your entrance in adulthood.”

Kyria snorted and throw away the covers. Lady Stark eyed the scarlet spot under her daughter’s legs and on her nightdress.

“First things first. We need to call over Maerys to take care of this mess.”

So they did. She poor girl had to change her sheets in the middle of the night, as Kyria’s mother patiently explained everything she had to know to… not make a mess like this.

It was an eventful night.

On the morrow, the young girl spends an awful amount of time trying to cross Jon or Robb on the corridors, just to see them go red to white before turning around and almost run to be away from her.

Sansa was the first to ask her what happened with Frost. Kyria hesitated. She was still a child. It wasn't the kind of thing one discusses on the open like that. But then no one explained anything to her, except she was going to bleed one day, and that was called flowering. Very useful… So she explained everything, the pain, the blood, and what she had to do not to ruin all of her clothes during this period to the month.

She did the same with Arya when the girl asked. Arya didn't really get the point, but Sansa closed to the time when it'll actually happen to her, was pale for a long time after their discussion. It seemed like she didn't even think that becoming an adult and able to bear children would be painful. Kyria even pushed the point to a crude explanation of what is actually happening on the marital bed. That made her run away. She blushed each time she ran to Theon after that. The boy looked smug, surely thinking his infamous charm affected the young girl. Kyria suspected it was mostly the numerous stories he liked to share about his time with Ros and her friends.

He didn't know things like the modesty of fluency. Archaic things... 

Mother was pissed off. But Kyria couldn’t care less. She was the oldest, she needed to protect her sisters. If protecting them meant she had to scare them to death, then so be it.

In fact, she was even proud of herself, as her initiative paid off a couple of days later when Sansa thanked her for her truthfulness. As the girl complained shyly about how Mother and Septa Mordane sugar-coated everything even slightly related to marriage and marital bed, Kyria's smile could have cut her head in half. She couldn’t hide it for the rest of the day.

Since their discussion in the Library, Sansa sometimes went to see her sister. More often than not, she had an argument with Arya and wanted to understand or complain about her sister.

This time, it was about warrior women, the Princess Nymeria in particular. The girl didn't seem to get why she was a princess and a warrior. Kyria took great pleasure answering.

“I don’t understand why a Lady would want to fight like a man.”

“I’m not against it.”

Sansa never looked more shocked by Kyria's knowledge. It was almost funny.

“What? Why? No Lord would ever want a woman who can fight! It’s not proper!”

"Proper? Sansa, we talked about this..."

“I know, the armor thing.” the girl recalled, rolling her eyes “but it is one thing not having to act like a proper lady all the time. I understand what you’re trying to say, but it is a completely different thing to lift a sword and act like a man! It’s not worthy of a high born lady!” 

“So a Lady must always count on others to defend her life?"

“Why would she have to defend her life? Ladies don't go to war! They don't win tourneys, they don't hunt, or chase bandits."

“Sansa, you can’t be that naïve.” sighed Kyria, almost archly.

Sansa’s cheeks reddened. “I’m not!”

"You are, sister. Women, whether they are ladies or small folk are always, always the favorite prey of men. Easy pretty weak defenseless preys. During a conflict, the best way to hurt your enemy is by attacking his lady. Haven't you heard of rape?"

“I- But surely high born girls...”

“Are the easiest prey, because of their pretty little heads clouded with songs of a gallant knight who save their damsel in distress."

“How could you say that!” 

“It's the truth sister. How many time wives are killed to reach their husband? How many daughters are raped, tortured, killed to hurt their father? Woman are tools for their man. Sell for armies, alliances, or power."

“It’s not that-”

“It is, sister. Our own mother was sold to father for a political alliance between the North and Riverrun. Marriage between high born rarely have anything to do with love."

“Stop it Kyria you exaggerate...”

"Oh am I? So our duties to our family are not to marry the man Father will choose for us and give birth to his children until our last days? And you wonder why Arya hates being a lady so much. I myself hate our feminine condition most of the time. We are tool Sansa the sooner you realize it the better. Tool sold to noblemen to repair or prevent political mistakes."

“Kyria!”

The girl closes her mouth. Robb scolded her in one look, keeping her to go further. Kyria looked at him, then at Sansa again, finally noticing how distressed she looked. Guilt gripped her throat for a minute. The poor girl was indeed a fool when it comes to her position as a woman, but she didn't deserve this. But then, no one ever bothers warning her of the cruelty of life. Sansa was sweet, yes, but letting her be this naive couldn't be good for her surely?

Disturbed, Kyria rubs he forehead. Still, she shouldn’t have lost control of herself that way. Anger was never a good way to communicate.

“I’m sorry Sansa. I shouldn’t have lost control of my emotions like that...”

Robb sighed, and hug the little girl, claiming to be his knight in shining armor, that would always protect her little sister. Kyria didn't say anything else but thought none less. 

_There’s no justice in this world..._ whispered a voice in he head.

She falls asleep a long time after her head had touched the pillow, with a strange sensation. Like she was at the edge of something. She didn’t dare call it destiny, but all this mess started to look strangely like a Tragedy. Like one of those pieces, actors liked to share with the world. With death at the end no matter what the characters tried to do to prevent it. Tragedies mean unstoppable fate. And did she knew her family fate…

Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.

She dreamed of the little thing with pretty feathers, a large snake with long fingers twisting it like a piece of clay. She couldn't have been more thankful for Frost rapidly growing body.

On the morrow, she found Arya next to her at their usual sewing lesson, the girl looking as unhappy as usual. They worked in silence for some time, then Arya talked.

"I wish mother could ear me when I say I don't want to be a lady like Sansa. Since this thing about insult the other day she won't let me alone about it," she said with an annoyed voice. 

Kyria thought of her conversation with Sansa the day before and asked:

“Is it that bad?”

“Of course it is! Being obliged to do all those boring things, like embroidery or calligraphy or-or singing! Why do women have to be so- so- so boring!"

“Is it boring because you don’t like it, or because you’re bad at it?” teased Kyria.

Arya blushed. Alright, the later.

“Shut up.”

"Oh, so it's the last."

“No! It’s just-”

Kyria waited for the girl’s next word.

They never came. Frustrated, she huffed and furiously pine her sewing needle in the fabric.

"You know, maybe you would like it better if you put some effort into it."

“Why would I do that? It’s useless!”

“Do you know hos Masters heal deep cuts?”

Arya arched an eyebrow, not knowing where she wanted to go with that. Kyria smiled. Her long hours locked up in the library where paying indeed.

"They sew the flesh to close the wound. Just like you would sew a dress."

The second eyebrow follows his brother under Arya's hairline.

“Wh- really?”

Kyria nodded. The brunet looked pensive for a moment. 

“Why are you telling me that anyway? It’s not like I want to heal people.”

“I never say you would.”

But that made you think, Kyria thought with a smile.

Kyria couldn’t have been more pride, when she notices, a couple of days later, Arya looking pensively at Septa Morane's work as she keeps giving counsel to Jeyne. She made her think of her attitude. It wasn’t much, but Kyria knew to be glad of small victories. She wasn’t going to have much more anyway.

Later that day, she finds Bran on her way to the library. At the sight of his sad little face, Kyria bites her lips. With everything happening recently, she didn't spend that much time with her little brother. As she saw him there, alone in the corridor, she regretted it. So she proposed him to spend some time with her.

The boy was distressed at the idea of Jon's leaving. Rickon gets over it rather quickly, but he had just recently turned six. It was expected for a boy his age. Bran, on the other hand, was older, enough to understand what it meant to take the black. And fragile enough to suffer from the loss of Jon.

To cheer him up a bit, she proposed a ride. Bran loved to ride. It was something they had in common. Bran didn’t talk much at first.

“Bran, do you want to go for a ride with me?”

“A ride?”

"Yes, just you and me, brother." someone pulls on her dress. She found Frost's little eyes. " well you, me and the wolves."

The boy looked hesitant.

“You always ride with Robb or Jon.”

"Well, now I propose it to you. We could search for caves in the woods. I would be like an adventure. And mother couldn't say anything to you if I proposed it."

“But-”

The boy looked at her, then the stable. She knew well how much he liked to ride. A shame she never took the time to share it with him before. But she always thought he was still too young. Besides, Mother liked to babying him as much as she could. More than even Rickon, for the boy, was too wild for her liking. Bran was sweet. If it weren't for his habit to climb every single surface he could get his hands on, surely Lady Catelyn would think him the perfect child.

“But if mother-”

"Don't worry about Mother little brother. We could take Frost and your wolf with us. Let them discover a few of our Wolfswoods." proposed Kyria with a smile.

That seemed to encourage Bran further, as he smiled brightly at his big sister. Kyria returned it, happy to share something with the boy. The age gap between them didn't allow them to be as close as she was from Jon or Robb.

Maybe she could have made some effort and spend more time with him.

They happily rode through the Wolfwood. At first, it was more for the pleasure of the ride than anything else. Kyria feeling her heart beat faster when Bran laughs at something she said. Then, they tied their horses to a tree and continue on foot.

The two direwolves, now as tall as Bran's waist, happily run around, chasing squirrels. One of them, braver than the other, climb onto her brother's nameless wolf's back. The pup runs around in a circle, trying to catch the little thing's tail.

Bran laughs for an entire minute.

“He looks so lost! You poor thing" smiled Kyria as the pup give up, looking at his master with big sad eyes.

“Poor boy! The squirrel's gone now," said Bran as he gently stroke the pup's head.

The direwolf whined sadly, as his tail betraying his happiness under Bran’s touch.

Kyria smiled. What a comedian.

“Did you find a name for him?”

“Not yet… I tried to choose something but I keep changing my mind.”

“Why?” asked Kyria with real curiosity.

“I found the name I choose… stupid.”

“Stupid? Why?”

“Everyone has good names for their wolves. Greywind, Nymeria, Ghost… And- I found mine so stupid."

“Well, I wouldn't call Greywind a smart choice… or Ghost for what's matter" she joked, stealing another smile from her brother. "What names did you think of?” she asked again. “Maybe I can help you.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“No, I won't.

“You will.”

“Why should I? I named my wolf Frost. It’s not very original for a wolf coming from behind the wall.”

“I found it great.”

Kyria snorted. "Well, at least I can make bad jokes about it."

“Bad joked?”

“Now nobody can say that Frost doesn't bite."

Bran blinked and snorted when he understood. Kyria almost feels ashamed of her poor humor. But if it made Bran smile she could tolerate it.

Bran bites his lip, his eyes on his wolf as both pups played with each other.

“So? Would you tell me the named you thought of? Or do I have to guess?”

“I- I thought of naming him Bold.”

“Bold? Why?”

“After the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan the Bold.

Of course. The Kingsguard. She should have guessed. It was a good idea. Kind of weird, but why not!

“And why didn’t you called him Brarristan?”

“Because he isn’t- It’s not..” he blushed. “there is already a Barristan.”

“It’s true… You thought of another name?”

"Hm… maybe."

“Maybe?”

“Summer.”

Kyria swallows a smile. There you go.

“Summer? Why didn’t you called him that?”

“I don’t know...The babies born during summer like us are called Summer Children. I thought that as he’s like us, you know, born during summer, I could call him that.”

That was smart. Better have a name with a signification than a pretty name that meant nothing.

"Well I think this is a good name for him," she said looking at the pup

Frost had climbed on his brother and was happily chewing his ear. The little pup in return grabbed Frost's tail. It was kind of strange to think of their direwolves, sweet little things as they were, might one day be bigger than a horse. Or at least a pony.

What would it be once they stop growing? How big would they be? She couldn’t even imagine it.

“Really?” asked Bran, looking truly surprised.

“Yes. It suits him."

Bran looked at the pup again.

“Try it.”

“What?”

"Well, it'll be his name at the end. He should have something to say about it."

“Oh...”

The pup was chasing one another a bit further from them.

“Summer?”

Both pups stopped. They looked at them, all ears and big curious eyes.

"Summer?" he tried again. "Come here, boy."

The pup whined, yelp happily and run to his master, tails wagging so hard he had difficulties walking. He jumped on Bran and conscientiously lick every inch of skin available. Bran laughs again.

Kyria smiled, and stroke Frost fur. There, at least they had found Summer a name. And Bran looked like he had forgotten Jon's imminent departure.

Mission accomplished.

They didn’t end their walk there. Kyria and Bran started to look for caves and hidden places. They found a little crevasse under a rock, large enough to hide a grown man. Bran rolls himself inside it while she didn't pay attention, and the girl had to look for him for almost half an hour. She only found him with Frost, when the pup unearths his brother.

Their little adventure ends up early when Kyria heard Jory's voice calling them. Lady Catelyn gaze on them makes Kyria feel like a little girl in fault. But Bran's hug when they went apart, worth every angry lecture she could get.

“Thank you Kyria.”

Her smile stayed in place the entire evening.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Two months after their discovery of the pups, Uncle Benjen walked through the North Gate of the Keep, all in black and with a smile on his long face.

The summer snow was slowly falling that day, just enough to make the dirt of the courtyard look almost pretty. Tiny white things making their hair wet and clothed uncomfortable. As the man dismounted his horse, Kyria thought with irony that their uncle from the North was bringing Winter with him. Sansa complained about it just enough time to piss off even Robb, the more patient of them all with the girl’s moods. Theon made a joke about it, linking the tiny flakes as a message from the gods to convince Jon to go quickly.

No one except Theon found the joke funny.

In the middle of the mess that was the Stark children, all of them sadden at the idea of their beloved brother leaving -well except Sansa who only didn't like the snow-, Theon Greyjoy looked delighted. He wasn’t helping at all, the arrogant little squid

At the right hour, all the Stark children plus Jon Snow waited in the courtyard for their dear uncle. The man entered with a large smile on his long face. Long black hair secured away from his eyes with a tiny leather link. He happily hugged both Rickon and Bran, then Arya, later. The girl clearly didn't look pleased by her uncle visit. Kyria guessed she blamed him from her favorite brother's decision.

It took two long weeks for Jon to finally gain his sister's forgiveness. Two weeks in which the poor boy keep following her like a lost puppy, desperate to have his little sister’s forgiveness. Kyria and Robb had a wonderful time observing him trying. This girl knew how to handle a boy when she wanted to. More than Sansa who was weak on the knee at the first compliment. Her stubborn little face when she finally allowed her dear brother to hug her was priceless.

She smiled at the memory.

Benjen keeps her for the last. She knew, from her Father and Jon that Benjen was aware of her condition. But she never met him before this day and the last time she had to meet again someone she forgot was already more than a year ago. She didn’t know what to expect, or how to react.

“So my dear niece, I imagine you don’t remember me, do you?”

...Well, straight to the point. At least that was clear. Kyria blinked before remembering her manners.

“Indeed uncle. Pleased to meet you. Again.”

Benjen laughed, more expressive than her father ever was. Both men looked remarkably alike, Kyria noticed, same long straight hairs, as dark as the night, same long face, same piercing eyes. It was strange to see a smile so wide on a face so similar to her father’s usually so solemn.

Not bothering with any curtsey uncle Benjen hug her with one of his arms, laughing lightly against her hair. She let him do as he pleased, more out of surprise than anything else. Still, it was good to know her family.

The household feasted Benjen's Stark arrival with a fervor rare enough to be mentioned. Kyria learned that her uncle reluctance at her brother's choice of life. Like Father's before him, uncle Benjen spends half the evening talking quietly with Jon, trying to convince him to, at least think about this a bit more. Jon didn't renounce. He was determinate. He still announced his desire to stay at Winterfell for at least a month. To be sure his nephew measured his choice and its consequences.

Kyria didn’t know what to think about this. She never really thought about her uncle at the Wall. Now that she found him in front of her, his sight agitated something inside her head. For a second, this numbness that sometimes inhabited her was back, so strong, that for a moment, she couldn’t hear, feel or know anything more than than the strong beat of her heart, calm and composed, in the tumult of her thought. As she was studying this face she never saw before, something inside her wanted to cry. She felt this time with her uncle like an exception, something doomed to never happen again under this roof.

Like every other strange feeling she could have felt, Kyria blinked it away. The moment after everything was normal again.

On the morrow, they introduced Benjen to their new companions, enjoying the man's surprised at the sight of the entire litter of direwolves each one obediently sits ant their master's feet.

“Where did you find them?”

"Their mother was killed by a stag," explained Robb.

“We saved them!” pipped proudly Bran, his hand on Summer’s head.

“You did? Well, it seemed to be an interesting tale." contemplate their Uncle, with a smile for the boy.

Bram beamed, puffing his chest like a proud little bird.

“It was quite impressive, to see such a massive beast," said Robb with a smile.

Kyria watched them speak without any intervention. She didn’t know what to say. For once, she and Sansa shared their discomfort around their family. The truth is, she didn’t know how to behave. How one could be a niece?

As she stayed silent, around uncle Benjen, her mind keeps going back to the Dreams, even more often than most days. Uncle Benjen presence agitated her senses. If she didn't suffer another vision violent enough to cut her legs, like it did that infamous day with Jon and Robb, they didn't disappear altogether. Maybe it was uncle Benjen, or maybe it was the knowledge of Jon's imminent departure… but her mind keeps coming back to her visions. She felt like she was at the edge of something. Was it the world or only her life as she knew it now, Kyria couldn’t say.

But something was coming. She could almost taste it, on the tip of her tongue. Winter maybe…

Father did promise it.

Sleep was long to come that night. Her heart didn't seem eager to calm down. As was her mind, working again and again without any hope of rest. She dreamed, of course. The pretty little things with soft feathers were followed by the cold bite of winter. Snow splashed with blood, and cold eyes watching her.

She woke up early, as dawn started to shyly illuminate her room. Her handmaiden found her some short hours later, and promptly help her prepare for the coming day. With any hope, Sansa's gift dor her last name day, a dark green dress with a lighter underskirt and pretty flowers embroidery on the bodice would be pretty enough to hide her eyes, puffed by lack of sleep.

“You look awful.”

...Or not.

Of course, Robb snorted. Traitor.

“Thank you, Arya. I'm quite well how nice of you to ask."

Robb snorted again, she could have sworn she see water coming out of his nose. Theon barked a loud laugher, quickly tamed by Lady Stark's sweet gaze on him.

“Are you well Kyria?” asked Sansa, a worried line on her forehead.

Kyria smiled at her, trying to forget her tiredness for the sake of appearance.

“I’m alright Sansa thank you. I didn’t sleep well that’s all.”

The girl smile, relieved and took a small bite of her meal. Kyria did the same. On the corner of her eye, she noticed Jon's gaze on them. He sat close to Benjen, certainly to talk about the Watch. What else after all?

She didn’t want to think about it now. She was tired, and Jon was still here. He wasn’t gone yet.

_Yet…_

Kyria cleared her throat and took another bite. Rickon babbled to get her attention, pulling her sleeve like the needy pup he was and the girl focused on him. He was like fresh air on a hot day. All smile and happy chat. Like the rest of the world didn't exist. It was just him and his dreams. And sometimes them, Mother, Father, Robb and everyone else.

To be a child again…

...

Or, well to be younger at least.

She had to go to her knitting lesson with her sisters that day. There wasn’t much to say about it, except maybe for Arya’s unusual attention that day. It didn’t take a lot of time for Kyria to understand the reason.

Jon. Of course.

Not without curiosity, Kyria looked at her sister’s work. The little girl had begun to knit what looked like a handkerchief. It was small enough. She started what looked like a kind of pattern on the exterior of the fabric. The color looked like silver. The entire thing could have been wonderful, if not for the pattern Arya seemed desperate to knit on the fabric. Kyria couldn't for the life of her understand her sister's intentions in this… Well, the smartest thing would probably be to ask...

“Arya, what would you like to do in your handkerchief?” she asked as innocently as she could.

Maybe a bit too much, according to Arya’s suspicious gaze.

“Why? Not pretty enough for a Lady?”

“I wouldn't say that. I love the colors you choose."

Arya blinked than looked back at her work.

“You do?”

“Yes, your pale grey look almost like silver. It’s pretty.” she insisted.

Arya didn't respond. She touched the lines she tries to embroider the day before. Then, she looked at Kyria's own work, curiosity evident.

“What is it?” she asked, pointing her lap.

“Oh, a doublet. I’m trying to sew something for Jon. A gift for his departure.” she explained, caressing the soft fabric on her lap. “It’s not as good at Sansa’s work but I don’t think it that bad either.”

“It’s not...” responded Arya.

She looked pensive.

“Won’t you… give him something? I know how much you love him.”

Arya nodded. Kyria didn't insist and return to her own work. Arya will talk to her when she wants.

She keeps her resolutions for approximately ten minutes before she gave her sister's work all of her attention.

Arya’s technique was sloppy at best. But she seemed to put some effort into it.

Without a word, Kyria moves her hands, to attract the girl's attention. It worked after some minutes. When she looked at her, Kyria slows down her own movements, so her sister could see how she did to make the right stitch. She frowned and tried again.

After some time, a smile flowered on her face, and she showed her work to her big sister. Kyria's smile matches her own.

“See? You can do it when you try.”

“It’s still boring.”

“Maybe. But not that bad.”

“Maybe...” she repeated, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

Kyria left the session satisfied with her work. With her doublet and with Arya.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Uncle Benjen was with them for a fortnight when it happened.

He usually spends a lot of time with the boys, training them on the yard the afternoons, telling them stories. That day, he was helping Bran with his bow, when Arya decided to come to see how it was going. Always curious, Kyria didn't wait long before joining them. Sansa came along, more out of a desire not to be alone than anything else. After some observation, Kyria decided to take a risk, and join actively the practice. Arya's expression only was worth the potential humiliation.

“Are you sure Kyria?” asked Robb, looking slightly worried.

“Yes. Why not! If Arya can do it, why couldn’t I?”

“Well, Arya obviously isn't at her first try. But you never hold an arrow before."

“Kyria it’s really not proper to do this kind of things. It is a men’s work.” protested Sansa.

“And since when is it forbid to try a new thing?” Kyria responded, all of her attention already on the bow in her hands.

Robb patiently explained to her how she was supposed to do this. Then she tried. She band the bow, an arrow carefully secured between her fingers. Her arms protested as she did it and she grimaced, silently cursing her womanly situation that didn't allow her to built up some muscles. She realized the arrow, who gloriously plant itself several feet before the target.

Robb laughs, as did Arya, but Kyria didn't take offense. She tried again. Sansa keeps protesting but Kyria didn't ear it. She was learning something useful. That's all that mattered to her.

“Sansa, if you have so much to say about it, come and try too!” called Robb, a large smile on his face.

Kyria’s face snapped at him. He searched his gaze and, once he had it, he winked. He actually winked at her. Was he- Was he planning something?

“Me? But I- No it’s not- It’s not proper to do so.”

“Do you see anyone here to impress sister?” he asked, not giving up for a bit.

Sansa shakes her head, unsure.

“Then there’s no need to be proper. I agree to play to all of you games dear sister, the less you can do is humor me for this one time and try to shoot this arrow.”

Oh, the sneaky little shit!

“But-”

“Sansa. If I can tress a crown of winter roses, you can shoot this arrow. Don’t make me beg you.”

That… was strangely cunning, coming from her sweet honorable big brother. She as about to comment it out loud when something made her jaw hit the floor. To her complete surprise, Sansa, her dear proper little sister huffed, looked at their brother right in the eye and took the bow from his hand. Robb smiled proudly and put her next to him, not waisting another second to start explaining what she was supposed to do. The girl seemed to drink his words like those of a god. Or Septa...

The sneaky little shit! She couldn't believe her eyes! Not only did he tried to manipulate their little sister into doing what she wouldn’t do otherwise, but he actually succeeded!

“Did Robb just-” she said to Jon, as Sansa was getting ready to shoot.

"He did. I couldn't have believed it if I didn't see it."

“Is Sansa trying to shoot?!” asked Arya, quite taken abash.

“Apparently.”

“Since when does she make her hands dirty playing boys games?”

“I dare say… now?”

The little girl looked like she couldn’t believe it. Kyria herself had a hard time believing her own eyes.

Sansa shoots her arrow. It went right to the target. Not in the center, obviously, but it did reach it. Kyria's jaw went right back to the floor.

“Seven hells!”

Robb laughed and congratulate Sansa. He looked proud, like he was the one who shoot the arrow. 

"That was fantastic! Sister, I think we found another of your talents."

Sansa’s cheek reddened. She looked pleased with her brother's compliment and wore a smile Kyria rarely see on her. It was blossoming on her face like a rose in the gardens. She was really pretty when she was happy.

Arya grumped, next to her and almost tear the bow from her sister's hand.

"That's rubbish." she snarled.

“Arya!”

The little girl shoots an arrow right at the center of the target. Then, she turned to Sansa, a smug smile on her face.

“See? That’s how you do it. But you can’t know with all your sewing and little songs! That’s not something for stupid girls like you!”

“Arya!” protested Kyria.

Sansa's face fell. She gave back the other arrows Robb had put on her hand, bow to her brothers and Kyria and flew the yard before anyone had the chance to hold her back. Robb lost his smile and glare at Arya.

"What? She's not good at it! Why should I lose practice time for her? She can go back to her needles for all I care."

“Arya that’s enough!”

Kyria’s angry voiced made the girl jump. She looked at her, with big innocent eyes, wondering what she did wrong. Kyria didn’t loose time to explain to her what was wrong and follow her sister’s steps, afraid that if she stayed, she might say something harsh.

However, once at the doors, she couldn’t resist. She turned back.

“If she’s bad at it, then I am worse.” he snapped. “Will you try to humiliate me with your perfect skills too, or is it only for Sansa?”

She didn't let her respond. Instead, she walks through the keep, looking for her sister. She found Sansa in her room, her pretty head buried in Lady's soft fur, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

“Oh, Sansa..."

She kneels next to her and gently ran her hand in her back. Sansa fell on her arms, loud sobs escaping her mouth. Kyria rocked her slowly, shushing in her ear and gently stroking her hairs.

“Shh, it’s alright sweet girl, it’s alright. You were brilliant down there, don’t let your quarrel with Arya ruin it. It’s alright...” she kept saying, occasionally kissing Sansa’s crown of hair.

"She-she ruined it! She ruined all of it!" responded Sansa between her cries.

“Shh, it’s alright. Everything is alright.”

Uncle Benjen found them a couple of minutes later, his face grave. Kyria knew he had assisted at all of it. What was he going to do now?

"Kyria, Sansa, would you both come with me? I think you need to talk to your sister Sansa."

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to see her ever again!”

“Sansa, dear don’t be silly. Even if you don’t always like it, Arya is your sister. You’ll have to talk to her one day on another.”

“No!”

“Sansa...” sighed Kyria.

She understands her sister's hurt. Arya and Sansa's numerous disputes were common in the keep. But recently, they grew more arch, almost hateful sometimes. Kyria was worried about it. Most of the time she was in the middle and she didn’t want her relationship with her sisters to be always like that. Arguing ans purpousely hurting the other. An eternal war of sort. 

“Sansa, Kyria and I will be with you all the time. But I think you need to talk to Arya. At least try.” asked again their Uncle.

Kyria was glad of his presence, if only for this moment. Maybe he would succeed to reconcile her sisters. She’d be grateful if he did.

Sansa agreed after some more coaxing from both Kyria and uncle Benjen. The man of the Watch leads them both to an empty room who used to be a chamber, according to the desk and the big empty bookshelf on a corner. Arya was already here, seated next to a somber-looking Jon. He obviously didn't look pleased with his favorite sister. Kyria couldn't blame him, as she wasn't either.

Sansa and Kyria both sit on the chairs in front of Arya and Jon. Benjen took his own seat, between the four of them.

All in all, it looked like a war council. Or a negotiation one, she wasn’t sure yet.

“Alright. Now you two are going to talk." started uncle Benjen a serious expression on his long face. "I understand you don't get along well girls but you are sisters. If something is wrong between you two, you have to resolve the issue instead of being stupidly mean with each other."

Well, again uncle Benjen, right to the point.

"I heard that your numerous quarrels had become quite common recently. And I don't want it to continue. So, both of you girls will stay in this very room with Jon, Kyria and I until you've talked to each other."

Neither opened their mouth. Kyria bites back a sight. That was going to be a long day. She didn't say anything and looked briefly at Jon. He had a bright light in his eye. He looked determinate to stay right here and see the end of it. She agreed with the thought. This couldn’t continue as it was.

But still... they could stay here for days before one fo them finally decided to talk... And she really didn't want to stay here for entire days... Like not at all!

After almost half an hour of stubborn silence, Benjen talked again.

"We have all day. Believe me, you will talk."

"I don't want to talk to her." finally said, Sansa.

"Well my dear you don't have a choice," responded Benjen without batting an eyelash.

Kyria admired his calm. He looked unflappable. How did he do that? She was bored to tears! She wanted to scream or shake them like a tree, anything to have some kind of reaction. He had the patience of a Septon! Did he learn this up to the Wall? It that so she didn't dare imagine what would become of him once Jon actually went there.

"Come on talk," said Kyria.

She certainly didn’t have the character necessary to wait for them to decide when they finally will start to address the issue.

“Why are you always so annoying?” asked Sansa with a quiet voice after another long twenty minutes.

“Me? You are the more annoying here! You always do everything you can to spoil my fun!”

“I spoil your fun? You spoil literally everything you touch! Every time! You’re a disaster!”

“You’re a spoiled little lady so annoyingly boring you make me want to cry sometimes! With your stupid song about south and knight and fair ladies! You’re so- so stupid!”

“I'm not! You are! Playing at being a boy! You're not a boy, you're a Lady! It shames me to be your sister! Why can't you be more like Kyria! You're always acting like you're better than every one of us when you play with your stupid wooden swords and tales of adventure. Why didn't you have to do your duty like everyone! Just because you look more like Father and everyone says you're the living image of aunt Lyanna you think you can do anything you want. Well, you can't!"

That quickly went out of control… Kyria shared an alarmed look with Jon. She’d never guessed their animosity ran that deep. There was a serious problem here. And even worse, she was put in the middle of it! She didn't want to have any part with this mess thank you very much!

“At least I'm not an empty head little girl who believed in fairy tails! You don't even think when Septa Mordane or Mother tell you of those stupid songs. How can you only think they're real!? It's just a bunch of stupid tales that mothers tell to their daughters so they don't complain when they're married off! I don't want to spend my life obeying blindly to a stupid lord and carry children after children until my death! I want to be free to do what I want!"

Good gods…

“Why would you have the right to be free when other women in our situations don’t have any choice in the matter?! Why would you be different?”

“At least I try to do something! I don’t stay here crying on my poor fate. I want to be free to choose what I want to do! If I become like Aunt Lyanna then so be it! At least I’ll be free!”

“Aunt Lyanna was killed because she couldn't stop being stupidly stubborn and attract attention to herself! Maybe if you live the same fate you'll learn to do what you are supposed to do!"

“Sansa!”

Arya kept getting redden and redden. Both girls had tears in their eyes. Sansa glanced at Kyria’s reproachful gaze. She lowered her head, and bit her lip.

“I HATE YOU! I hate you, you stupid- Stupid SANSA!" screamed Arya, jumping out of her chair.

Fat tears ran down her cheeks, as she took the path through the door. Jon grabs her arms before she could reach it.

“No! Let me go! Let me go! I don’t want to see her stupid face anymore! I hate her! I hate her!”

“Why? What have I ever done to you? Why do you keep trying to ruin my life every chance you get? What did I do to you?!” screamed Sansa, her eyes just as moistly as Arya’s.

“You hate me! You're always criticizing me, mocking me! You never want to play with me or talk to me! You're always with your stupid friends doing you stupid things! You never want to spend time with me!"

Benjen sat straighter in his chair, a light in the corner of his eye.

“You hate me! You ruin everything! Every time! When I try to be nice to you, you mock me! You say I'm stupid!"

“You’re never nice to me! You criticize me, I’m always wrong! I don’t do anything right! Every time!”

“I was nice to you when I made a dress for you! You ruined it! In a day! Like it was nothing! I spend weeks on this dress!”

“ I- I said I was sorry! I didn’t want to ruin it! I tried to repair it after!”

“You shouldn’t have ruined it in the first place. You always do that! Always!”

“That’s not true!”

“It is! You spend your entire life-ruining mine!"

“You think I want to? You- You're always so perfect! In everything! Everyone loves you because you're the perfect little Lady and they don't like me because I'm not! And- And I try but it's never enough and you- you and your friends you- Why do you hate me so much!"

Fat tears started to form on the corner of Arya’s eyes. Sansa opens her mouth, maybe to respond to her sister's accusation, but the girl didn't let her talk.

“And then- There's one thing where I'm good and you're not! One thing! And you tried to steal it from me! Like you didn't have enough attention to yourself already! It's me who's supposed to be good at men stuff! It's me who's supposed to hang on with them! Not you with your perfect knitting and your perfect dresses! You- You-"

She escaped a sob, visibly unable to restrain her cries anymore. Jon stood up and took her in his arms, as she cries without restraint. Sansa grabbed Kyria's hand, all her body shaking with shock, or was it sadness?

“I- Arya...”

Uncle Benjen made a sign with his head, inviting Sansa to go comfort her sister like she was supposed to do. With trembling hands, Sansa stood up and embraced Arya's sobbing form. Jon politely stood back, worry written all over his face. Kyria concentrated her attention on both her sisters. They were what mattered right now.

The little girl cried a long time in her sister's arms. Sansa opened her mouth several times, but nothing came out. She looked at Kyria once or twice, her big blue eyes full of tears that miraculously didn't fall. Kyria wished she could read her sister's mind. Know what she wanted to say. Unfortunately, she still didn’t gain any magical abilities.

After some time, Arya’s cries softened, only small hiccups occasionally escaping her throat. She didn’t let go of Sansa. Kyria ignored her own tears rolling on her cheek, and waited patiently for one of them to talk again.

Finally, after a couple of more failures, Sansa found her words.

“I'm Sorry Arya. I'm sorry I‘ve- I'm- I've been mean to you. I am your sister, your older sister and I failed you. I wasn't supposed to hurt you. It was- I never knew how to talk to you. I- You're you're so different from me. You- I think I- I envied you."

Arya’s noises stopped abruptly. She made a strangled sound and gripped Sansa’s handle. Kyria’s heart stopped in her chest.

“All my life I- I tried to be good like Mother told me too. I tried to satisfy everyone's expectations. I tried so hard… Every time I wanted to play or to do something else than what was asked to me I- I thought I didn't have the right to do it. I- I wanted to be good. I tried to make Mother and Father proud of me. I tried to be perfect, like- like in the song. Everyone always loves perfect ladies in the songs. Everyone is always happy at the end of the stories and I thought- If I do the same thing, act the same way than those beautiful ladies in the song, then I may- I may have the same ending. With a handsome Lord and beautiful life.” Sansa’s eyes shined for a second, and Kyria blinked.

Behind this childish face, there was something else.

_Porcelain, Ivory, Steel._

Kyria blinked, and it disappeared.

“But you, you don’t have to try to be loved. Everyone loves you. Everyone always says you’re a True, with wolf blood, like aunt Lyanna was before you. You always do what you want, was it girl stuff or boy stuff. And everyone loves you none-less." Sansa's voice broke at the end.

Arya shacked her head, but her sister didn’t let her talk. She pushed her cheek against the girl’s brown hair.

“It’s so- so unfair. You can do everything you want, no one loves you less for it. Me, I have to stick to a ton of rules. You’re a lady like me. But you never let anyone taught you those rules people kept repeating me again and again. Why did I have to do that, while you could be free of everything? It’s not fair.”

Sansa stopped talking for a moment. A small sob came out of her. Her shoulder shacked slightly. She was crying too.

“I- I was so _jealous_. But I could- I couldn’t complain. I tried once, to explain it to mother. But Mother reminded me of our luck, to be born where we are, surrounded by a family as wonderful as ours.”

Gods Mother…

“I couldn’t complain. But it was still not fair! Why me and not you? Why could you do everything you wanted?! Why was I so- so different! So so sorry...I- I only wanted to be good! I wanted to be what was wanted from me- to make Mother proud. I- I think I made you pay… and- I'm sorry for that. But I- I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have made you pay for my own situation. I'm so sorry I made you think I didn't love you..." she sobs in Arya's hair.

“Wh- Why did you do it? With the bow?” asked Arya with a tiny voice.

Kyria could barely hear her.

“I- When I shot it. It felt- I thought I could finally share something with you all. With Robb and- Bran and- and Kyria and Rickon and- you. I thought we could- we could be sisters.

“And then I ruined it.” added the little girl, almost bitterly.

“You both were angry and bitter," said Benjen.

They jumped and looked at him. They looked surprised like they had completely forgotten he was here.

Benjen sighed, a long trait of air passing through his nose, and stood up, his eyes glued to the girls. Kyria took a step closer, not even realizing she was standing for some time already.

“You two are sisters. Even though you’re both as different as the Sun and the Moon, you’re still are sisters. This is something that will never change, no matter the path you’ll take in your respective lives.”

Their uncle extends a hand for Kyria to take. The older girl complied with curiosity.

He guides her closer to her sisters and put her hand on theirs.

“ I don't have the pleasure to spend that much time with all of you. I'm not here often, but from what I know, I can tell you something really important. The three of you are three part of a puzzle. The strength, the brain, the look. You three could be the perfect woman.” Each girl blushed at their uncle’s declaration, recognizing the compliment for what it was. “You don’t have to fight for it. Embrace it. Learn from it, learn from each other. Just like your brothers can learn from each other, for every one of their strength could echoing to the weakness of another. That's what it means to be part of a family. That's how you can strengthen your bond as sisters. Do you understand?"

The three girls nodded their head, astonished by their uncle’s speech. Kyria wasn't so sure about this puzzle thing, thinking each of her sisters was at least as smart as she was, but she didn't voice it. This was a time for reconciliation, not her own lack of self-esteem.

As uncle Benjen exit the room, she smiled at him. Right now, she couldn't be gladder from his visit.

The time till uncle Benjen and Jon's departure passed quickly. Too quickly for Kyria's taste. Two small weeks after Benjen intervention on her sister’s affair, it was time for him and Jon to go to the Wall.

Lady Catelyn wasn't to be found in the courtyard, not that it surprised Kyria that much. She must have already said her goodbyes to her brother in law. Mother didn't want to see her husband's son more than she have to. And seeing her pleased expression as the rest of her family tearfully paid their goodbyes to their dear brother wouldn't help her relationship with her children. That was bad enough that both Robb and Arya clearly resented her and blamed her for their brother's decision. Kyria did too, in some way. She didn't show it as much, but she couldn't help but think her mother wasn't that innocent in all this mess.

It took half an hour for them to separate a crying Rickon from Jon, and ten more minutes to do the same with Bran. Both boys had a really hard time letting their older sibling go. Kyria understood.

Then, Arya gave her handkerchief with the sewed wolf head as a farewell gift. Jon took her in his arms for a long time. Both of them exchanged a few words, but no one could tell exactly what they were saying.

As he let go of her, Kyria caught him looking a long time in Father's eyes, with something so serious it made her shiver. She didn't dare try to guess what this was for.

Robb and Jon’s farewell was as awkward as affection between two boys who happen do be brother could be.

“Farewell Snow.”

“You two Stark.”

They hug, like only man bother to do and Kyria felt her eyes roll into their socket. Boys.

Sansa bow politely. She even smiles to him, offering a courtesy she didn't bother do before. Kyria briefly thought his departure affected her too. Surprisingly.

Kyria could have thought more about it, but now wasn't the time. She had other things to do.

“I’m gonna miss you sister.”

“So am I.” she responded with a tearful smile.

This was it. He was really going. Kyria’s heart was beating hard in her chest. When will she see him again? Not before many years for sure… She took her time looking at him. Trying almost desperately to carve his face in her mind. To remember it the best of her abilities.

_Blood on the Snow._

Kyria closed her eyes. The numbness was back. Her heart, and nothing else. Something was different this time, however… Again she was like at the edge of something. As if the tip of her feet was in the void, with the rest of them ready to fall.

But where?

Without thinking, she took him in her arms, holding him as closely as she could.

As the enjoyed this last embrace, many thoughts invade her mind. She couldn't ear, of feeling anything else but Jon's still bony shoulders again her, and the sound of her own heart.

Something was pushing in her mind. Against her teeth.

She didn’t even think…

_Sand_

_Snow_

_Promise me_

_My son of Ice and Fire._

Her mouth opened before she could even think of what to say. Something needed to be said. Jon...

Jon. Jon. Jon. Jon. Jonjonjonjonjonjon

**_Jon..._ **

With one hand, she blocked Jon's head against her, her mouth on his ear so only he could hear what she had to say. Words flew through her mouth. She could feel their weight. They run out of her like panicked animals flew an avalanche. 

"Listen to me, Jon Snow. There is more in you than you know. You are worth a hundred bastard of the north. Your life is worth a hundred of them. Do you ear me? Never forget that. You, Jon Snow of Winterfell will always be more than what they'll ever think. Do you understand?"

“Kyria what are you-”

She didn’t let him finish. She had to be quick, to say everything. She had to.

“Listen to me, Jon Snow. We will see each other again someday." will they? “I know it." did she? How? " You must know it too. No matter what happens, or what you'll hear. We will see each other again. Until then, you have to build your own story. Listen to the Bastard in his father's eyes. Learn from him. Make the name of your own. I want to see more than a crow on the wall. Remember Jon, learn to talk.

Please, Jon, learn to talk. You have to talk to learn to listen.”

“What? What are you talking about Kyria-”

“No, listen.” she snarled against his ear, her nails scratching his skull, under his hair, almost drawing blood with the strength she pulled in.

She took a deep breath and the words flew out of her mouth again. “Look out for the kiss of fire Jon. They give luck. Look out for her and keep her alive. No matter the cost, Fire means luck. She had to stay alive. If not for you, for the Leaving. Look out for the fire and beware the boy. Beware the boy you’ll see in him. You are more than that Jon Snow. Don’t let anyone tell you the opposite. I pray that will be enough." 

“Kyria I don’t understand-”

“You will.” Will he?

She didn't think more of it. She couldn't. There was too much inside her head. She didn't think. She kissed his cheek, preventing him from saying anything else, and stayed like that as long as she could.

Then she talked again. And it was her words that came out of her mouth.

"I love you, Jon Snow," she whispered, a cold tear rolling against her cheek, wetting his.

Farewell, brother.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So?  
> Opinions? Good? Bad? Awfull?  
> What do you think honestly?  
> As you may have guessed, we won't see Jon for a long time now. I may have already explained it, but I won't change a lot of things at the Wall. And so, everything I will change will be shown in a single chapter later in this book. 
> 
> So for now no more sweet Jon :(  
> I'm almost sad that I won't be in Jon's head for a long time! I love writing Jon. I don't know why but it's almost simpler to be in Jon's head than in Kyria's. Which is ridiculous as Kyria is my Original character... But I do tend to make incredibly difficult characters... I mean this one see the future! Come on! It can't beeing called simple! At all!
> 
> Anyway, don't hesitate to share your opinion. I'm really curious to know what you think about this. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it ^^"  
> See ya!


	6. Chapter 6: Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is gone. Now they have to keep living as they are and take care of everything without him.  
> Easy, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> I'm baaack!  
> Yes, I'm still alive, and yes I'm still writing this XD. In case you are wondering...
> 
> So, about this chapter. Well, it's more like a filler. I mean, I have still one year to kill in my timeline before the introduction of... well the rest of the seven kingdoms XD And I can't just skip it because, well I had the wonderful idea to play with the timeline and the wolves' introduction and everything so now I have to fill the blanks! And work a bit more on my characters. Because I'm changing things already even if it may be hard to see the extent right now. With everything else happening (or not happening now that I think about it...)
> 
> So... yeah, filler. So there is not going to be much to say about this... I'm not very happy about this chapter, and I re wrote it several times but I'm still not happy...  
> So I guess I'll have to let it that way and hope for the best?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it!

**End of the Year 297 to the first month of the Year 298**

**Kyria**

For a couple of weeks after Jon’s departure, the  atmosphere  around Winterfell was slightly depressed.  It was hard not to notice someone was missing.

Arya spends the first  couple of  night s in her older sister bed. She was upset, that was clear. And if the pillow was a bit wet by the morrow, Kyria didn't notice. Arya had her way to deal with her emotions. Rickon, like always had crie d two or three days  then came back to his usual joyous self. Bran stayed glued to Robb for a long time,  his face sad and pouty . Robb didn’t say anything, but Kyria often found him looking away when he thought no one was looking.  She didn’t need to look to know where he was eyeing. 

In truth, Sansa was the only one who didn't look disturbed by the change in the household.  She looked just as perfect as ever.  Fortunately, and thanks to their Uncle intervention, they didn’t have to support Arya and Sansa’s eternal fights. Thanks to the gods for that. 

On e day,  while she made her way to the library,  she found Sansa holding a piece of tissue in one hand, and a small needle in the other. She was slowly sewing something, stopping at each stage to show a curious Arya how she was doing it. The little girl was conscientiously imitating her sister, her piece of tissue in her hands. Without a word, Kyria  forgot about her slowly took place next to the older one, and smile at them. 

After some time, Arya smiled at her, looking radiant.

"So, any progress?" she asked Arya.

Sansa nodded, enthusiast. Arya didn’t look that sure.

“I don’t know... Why does it have to be so hard?” she complained.

“You have to get used to it...” smiled Sansa with more patience than she ever displayed for her sister.

That was still strange to see…

Arya pouted glaring at the piece of fabric in her hands. Kyria stayed silent a couple of minutes, looking at her struggle with her work before taking pity of her.

“How about this, Sansa and I are going to try to help you with your sewing, and this afternoon, you’ll help us learn how to use a bow.” proposed Kyria.

She already knew how to do it, thanks to both Jon and Robb. But it was more for the sake of spending some time with her sisters while this new development lasted.

“Oh yes! Say yes Sansa!”

The redhead looked unsure, exchanging a glance with both Arya and Kyria.

“Come on Sansa. One entire day just between us girls. Without Robb or Bran or Rickon. Just us!”

“I- Well Jeyne wanted to spend some time in the glass gardens.”

Arya’s smile dropped immediately. But Kyria was persistent. She wasn’t going to drop the subject just as they started to make some progress.

“Come on Sansa. You spend all of your time with Jeyne. One day won’t change your relationship with her forever.”

“Please Sansa. Like uncle Benjen said. You teach me something you like and I do the same.”

Arya was surprisingly good with the puppy dog eyes.  It didn’t take long for Sansa to agree and the two girls were almost floating on their little  happy  cloud.  Kyria snorted. 

Maybe it was because she was closer to her brothers but she had trouble understanding what happened inside both of those heads. They seemed so happy to be in each other company, but until now they had spent all their respective lives biting each other throat… Why didn’t they stopped at some point to observe how much they loved each other?

Kyria shacked her head and decided no to think too much about it. She was with both her little sisters and they weren't arguing about anything. She had to enjoy it while it lasted.  She wasn’t naive enough to think one heart to heart was enough to erase all the potential hostility between them. Those heads were way to thick for that. 

By lunchtime, Arya proudly showed her new masterpiece to Mother, happy to finally have done something she could be proud of. Well, at least in this peculiar sphere.

Lady Catelyn’s face broke in the proudest smile Kyria saw in a while. It was truly heartwarming to see this directed to Arya.

“You did this on your own?”

“Sansa helped a little. Why can’t she be the one to give me lessons? She’s better than Septa.”

Kyria, behind the girl, couldn't contain a laugh. That was true.

“Arya!” protested Sansa.

The red on her cheeks and the twitch on her lips didn’t help her looking disapproving. Kyria grabbed her hand and squeeze it. Now was not a time to be proper.

"That's very good Arya. I told you, my girl, you can be a lady just as perfect as your sister! Thank gods the influence of this boy isn't on you anymore. I knew he had something to do with your wild nature."

The last part wasn’t for any of them, and Lady Catelyn didn’t seem to notice her misstep, but the words were said.

Kyria closed her eyes. It was painful to watch… She loved her mother and honestly couldn’t ask for a better one, but sometimes she was insufferable. No wonder Sansa and Arya didn’t come along that often...

Sansa looked truly shocked, her eyes searching on Mother’s face. As if she didn't believe what she just heard.

Kyria didn’t even have to look at Arya to know the imminent disaster. Her Mother blinked at them, her looking like the perfect image of innocence and obliviousness. She didn’t seem to realized she just voiced her thought about Jon in front of his fiercest admirer...

Gods Mother…

"Arya, why don't we go see Father? He must want to see this too!"  quickly proposed Kyria, in an attempt to salvage the situation. 

“Yeah” she grumbled.

Fortunately, Kyria's previous idea was enough to give back Arya's smile. They spend their afternoon in the courtyard, bow, and arrow in their hands. The face Theon made when he cross them by itself was hilarious. And worth the risk of being seen by Lady Catelyn who would certainly not be as enthusiastic as the previous morning with their choice of activity.

“What in the Heavens are you doing?”

Sansa escaped a giggle she tried to mask with her hand. Arya wasn’t so careful with her joy and laugh at the face of their father’s Ward.

“What do you think we are doing?” Kyria called back, a wide smile on her face.

“Practicing!” squeal Arya between her laughs.

Theon's eyes fell on Sansa, who had like her sister s a practice bow in her hands. He  blinked multiple time, his jaw down to his chest like the fool he was. The poor lad didn't seem to believe his own eyes. Kyria loved his face. Priceless.

“All of you?”

“Why, yes Theon. This is funnier together. And easier.” responded Kyria, without a blink. “Plus, we have an expert between us.”

She pointed at her sister, who blushed under the attention.

Theon’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t say anything else. He made a little noise in the back of his throat and took his leave.

The three girls exchanged glanced and busted in  a pool of hysterical giggles . Good gods his face!

“He has to be careful," said Arya, tears of joy on the corner of her eyes, "if he doesn't train as much as us he'll be outmatched by a bunch of ladies."

Sansa’s laughed louder. She tried to control herself with a hand against her mouth but the tears of joy in her eyes show the difficulty of the task.

“Sure. You or Sansa will soon be as good as he is!” responded Kyria.

“You’re good too Kyria!” responded the redhead, a smile still tearing her face.

“Not as much as you are!” she responds good humoring.

It was true. Arya with her years of practice was excellent with a bow. And Sansa, also not as much experienced in the exercise, had shown real talent. More even maybe than the great Theon Greyjoy.

Kyria next to them, considered herself lucky when her arrow flew close enough to the target. Maybe she needed to build up some muscles in her arms?

The best thing about this particular afternoon was when, as Sansa was humiliating them with each arrow, hitting the center almost every time, someone slowly clapped above them.

Three head turned in its direction.

Eddard Stark stood on the balcony, tall and proud, slowly clapping his hands at his daughter’s prowess.

“Good job Sansa. Really good job. You have talent.”

The sweet girl couldn't have been more proud of herself. Kyria could almost smell the tears slowly growing behind her eyelid.

Nothing could have wept her smile from her face.

Things were not always this good of course.  O ld habits did die hard.  Even if both the interested parties didn’t seem eager to start again their endless quarrels, people around them were used to it. And some of them even enjoyed it very much. 

As Kyria learned a couple of weeks later, some people rejoiced at other’s misfortune. And apparently insulting a little girl was a fine game for some of Sansa’s little friends.  And until recently, Sansa allowed it. Which in a way was worse...

Stupid girls…

That day, a particular incident of this sort explode in their sewing room. One that ended up more violent than any other to Kyria’s knowledge. She took pride at the thought that she was in great part the reason why it ended up that way.

It all started quite normally. They were  all quietly sitten in a circle, needle and fabric in hand, sewing whatever was their project of the day with all the concentration they could get. I n  a silen ce that Kyria always found a bit annoying. They weren’t in a Sept for gods sake… Why did they need to stay silent like that?!  It wasn’t like one word was going to ruin a stitch! It was a stitch!

Anyway, that day, Arya seemed very concentrate on her work. A fact that didn’t  take long to attract Jeyne Poole’s attention. 

“And how is your work today Arya?” she asked with the sweetest voice Kyria never heard before. 

That caught her attention almost immediately. Her needle stopped midway to the fabric. What was it with the tone? Did she hurt herself or something?

Arya took some time to answer, confused by the sudden interest in her person.

“It’s...good. I think?”

“Oh is it?” she pipped.

Beth next to her choked a giggle. Kyria felt her shoulder tense. She didn't like the atmosphere that was suddenly invading the room. Everyone had stopped their work by then, but no one moved. Only Sansa was still concentrating on her work -a pretty dress as blue as her eyes with  tissue flowers around the neckline -. 

“That’s unusual, coming from you.” smiled Jeyne. “Did you suddenly wanted to be a girl Horse face?”

“That might be hard!” laughed Beth, apparently unable to hold herself anymore. “With all the time she spend with boys she might have too much of a something to be a proper girl!”

“How I think I saw something in her breaches!” giggled Jeyne “ Did your many efforts at being a boy paid off Horseface?”

Did she just- Did they-

Oh, fuck property she was going to kill those little bitches.

“Pardon?”

Beth's laugh strangles itself inside her throat in what seemed to be a rather painful noise.

If eyes could kill, both girl would have dropped dead on Kyria's feet. Instead, they lose all color on their pretty faces.

But then, maybe the menacing growls coming from the back of the room did have something to do with it.

“Your joke seem funny. Care to share it with me? What is it with my little sister’s breaches?”

She almost sputtered the last word. Beth’s face paled even more. A part of Kyria was surprised she didn’t faint from a lack of blood in the brain. But then again, she wasn’t sure the stupid bitch had a brain, to begin with...

“And, good gods my hearing must have a problem, I’m afraid I didn’t quite understand what you just called my sister. Would you care to repeat this?”

The girl hesitates. Smart.

“Horseface.” snarled Arya, red with anger and certainly humiliation. “They always do that.”

“Oh do they?” purred Kyria.

She was furious. How dare those little girls insult her sister that way? The daughter of their liege Lord?!

One of the wolves on the back barked loudly. Another growled. She could almost feel Frost anger mirroring her own. But she couldn’t let it took the best of her. As always, Father’s words were strong in her mind.

"Down Frost," she ordered.

One growl stopped. She didn’t need to look to know who was the other one.

“It was only a joke, my lady..."

“Oh," she said slowly. "A joke. So it's funny. Do you find this funny, sisters?"

Her gaze finds Sansa's first, her jaw was clenched. Her eyes were slightly bigger than usual. She looked conflicted, almost panicked. Arya didn't look at her. She had her eyes on her work and her face was red. Kyria knew her enough to guess it was not from embarrassment. Nymeria's growls may have been a clue to her theory.

“it’s… maybe not appropriate."

“Appropriate?” Kyria repeated.

Sansa blushed.

“It’s not- that funny for a joke.”

“it's because it's not a joke Sansa. It's cruel and means, and disrespectful. As friendly as you are with my sister Beth Cassel, we are still the daughters of you liege lord. Someone less generous than our father could have you beaten for this."

“Why would we?” responded Jeyne with a frown Kyria didn’t like. “It’s not insulting to say the truth. Is it our fault if Arya has the face of a horse? And everyone knows she wants to be a boy!” she laughed.

Oh so apparently Beth Cassel wasn’t the only one without a brain. Wonderful. Or was it Sansa’s presence, as her friend that made her felt secure in her right to express this kind of opinion?

Jeyne keeps giggling prettily, a hand in front of her face like some mundane lady. Like she didn’t just insult Kyria’s little sister. Again. This child seems to have a death wish.

“It’s true! Don’t you remember Sansa? The day she came here covered in mud for our lesson? She looked like some common folk! There was so much mud we couldn’t distinguish her hair from her face!” giggled Beth, definitely as stupid as her friend.

“Oh yes! We called her mud face that day! Oh we had so much fun!” laughed Jeyne.

Sansa dropped her gaze. She bites her lip but didn't say a thing.

"One more word from either of you and I won't be held responsible for my actions."

Frost braked again.

“Kyria...”

"Yes, sister?"

“Let it go Kyria.” snarled Arya.

“Why should I?”

“Oh come on Kyria, it’s not that bad," said Beth with a smile. "She doesn't care anyway!"

“ENOUGH!”

Kyria’s outburst cut out any other sentence from both girls.

“You insult my sister one more time, and I will hurt you. She is worth at least ten Beth Cassel or Jeyne Poole. She at least is not stupid enough to insult her Lord's daughter in front of both her older sisters and their wolves."

“But Sansa do it too!” blew up Beth, cutting Kyria in the middle of her tirade.

The silence after that was almost too heavy.

Kyria looked at her sister. Sansa’s face was pale and she wasn’t looking at her.

“ Sansa?”

“Oh forget it.” stormed Arya, already halfway out of the room.

“Arya?”

“What? I don’t want to stay in the same room than them!” she screamed, pointing accusingly at the girls. It was no mistaking the wetness in her face with anything other than tears. “They won’t stop! They’re too stupid and clouded by their ladylike perfection to bother noticing how useless they are!”

“Arya!”

“Lady Arya!” squeaked Septa Mordane materializing from nowhere. As always her timing was perfect. “How dare you screaming like a mad girl in the middle of our lesson!”

“Septa Mordane with all the respect due to your person, mind your own business." snapped Kyria. "Arya, Sansa, what's the meaning of this? You call your sister those names?"

“No! No, I-"

“She was doing it… before," said Arya.

“Before...”

“It was a mistake!" said Sansa, almost immediately. "I was wrong to say those things and I- I apologize. I'm sorry Arya. You're not ugly. You are beautiful and- I shouldn't have said that. I'm so sorry Arya..."

Arya sighed and came back with a pout. She looked at Sansa from under her eyelashes, still reluctant to come back.

“Lady Kyria I demand an apology. Right now!” said Septa Mordane voice from behind them.

Did this woman ever shut up!? Kyria didn't have the patience to deal with her right now.

“Sansa it's not so bad..." said Jeyne, a hand on the redhead's arm.

“Yes, it is. I'm sorry I hurt you, Arya."

Arya nodded, and hug Sansa’s middle, her little head hidden against the fabric of her dress.

Both Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel exchanged a look, and try their best to be as invisible as possible. Frost barked one last time, his eyes piercing them like knives. For one second Kyria was certainly one of them was fainting.

They did not. A shame.

The event could have ended up there, but of course, Septa didn’t let it go that easily. Kyria ignored her for the best part of the day after that, forcing her to complain to the only person able to make her listen.

Lady Catelyn asked for Kyria on the morrow, a stern expression on her face.

“Kyria, would you explain to me what happened yesterday with Septa Mordane and your sisters?”

“It was only a misunderstanding Mother.”

“A misunderstanding?” she repeated. “Would you care to explain?”

Kyria did. She told her mother about Jeyne and Beth and their behavior regarding Arya, and of course, the insult.

At the end of her tale, lady Catelyn sighed  her face closed up . 

“You shouldn't have reacted that way Kyria."

“Would you rather have me let those girls insult my little sister, my family in front of me?”

“They are only girls Kyria, they’ll learn.”

“They won’t if we let them do things like that. And Sansa was doing the same!”

“Was she? She didn’t tell me anything.”

“Well… not yesterday, but before she and Arya had reconciled, she uses to treat her the same way those girls did. And that damned Septa hate Arya so much she didn't say anything."

“Neither did you.”

Kyria snorted.

"They were smart enough not to say it in front of me," she said. "I would have said something otherwise."

“Would you?”

“Of course! I won’t let my sister being treated that way in their own home! They made Arya think she was ugly! Abnormal! A freak of nature!”

“I understand that my dear, and believe me I am just as angry as you are. And those girls will certainly hear about me pretty soon. But as angry as I am that is not what I mean. ”

She took a deep breath, collect her thought and talked again.

“Kyria, you are a lady. I have the distinct impression you sometimes don’t get the meaning behind those words.”

“What do you mean Mother?”

“Being a lady is not only knowing your curtsey, and being pretty.” she started. “You also have to be smart. More than some men even. We have to be smart because Women are the weak sex, you know that.”

Of course, she knew.

Kyria bites her lips and nodded.

“It means no one of importance will want to hear what we have to say, no matter how smart we are, or how right," said Lady Catelyn. " You are not going to spend your all life under your Father’s protection. One day, sooner than you may expect it, we will have to marry you. Your father and I will do everything in our power to find you a good husband, but even so, all men are stubborn. And, more important, all men are proud. They intend to be… touchy with their pride. If you want to have, even a tiny bit of control on your own life darling, you can't let your emotions take advantage of you like that." 

“But-”

“If-" she cut her "you find yourself in a situation similar, you have to think before you talk my dear. Here, this is your home and you were right to stop those girls to insult your sister. For that, I can not blame you. However, you have to control yourself and the manner with which you talk to others. Anger is never a solution."

“Father told me the same," said Kyria looking at her hands.

Mother smiled.

“He is of good advice.”

Kyria nodded. Lady Catelyn sighed and took her little girl hand.

“I know it is not what you wanted to hear. But I think you are old enough to understand that your life is not going to be as sweet and peaceful as it is now.”

Oh, if only she knew…

Lady Catelyn seemed to think about her word for a second, as soon a smile, maybe more bitter flowered on her face.

"Then I supposed you already have a good idea of the cruelty of this world don't you, my child?" she said slowly. "Or at least you imagine it."

"I do," said Kyria.

Catelyn smiled again, and hold her daughter’s hand. Kyria looked down at their hand.

“Why… Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

“You will soon be five and ten my girl. You won’t stay a child all your life. I think you are old enough to understand those things now.”

“Will you tell the same things to Sansa and Arya?”

“When the time comes," she said with a pat on her hand.

And just like that, the conversation ended. Mother kissed her head and shushed her out of her solar.

This incident had as other consequence to break something significant between Sansa and her friends. For a good amount of time after this day, Sansa was left alone most of the  day , without any of her usual companions. It hurt Kyria to see her like that, to witness those longing looks she send sometimes to the back of either one of her friends when they were not looking. 

Kyria’s ressentiment for those girls grew a little more each day they spend ignoring her sister. As much as Kyria would like to, she couldn’t spend her entire day with her. With everything she was stubbornly doing day after day, she couldn’t spear one minute of her time.

She was foolish to even think otherwise. 

Somehow, she naively thought Jon’s departure for the Wall would ease her daily routine at least a little. It did not.

When she wasn’t with her mother, or at her lessons with dear Septa Mordane -as delightful as she usually was, if not worse- or with her father in the Godwoods, she was with Robb. They spend a lot of time together, not unlike the time they had with Jon. They read together, talked about anything they could think of… The visions she had every night reminded her again and again of what might come to them, comforted her in her idea that her brother needed all the help he could get.

If some afternoon locked out in an old library, half-buried in books that smelled and looked at least twice both of their age could help him, even a little, Kyria was ready to do it.

Every time she had that kind of thought, something inside of her whispered that helping Robb might as well help everyone else.

She hoped this voice was right.

And so, just like  that, the household fall in a routine, mixed with longs afternoon in the library and occasional screams and protestations from the servant about the always growing wolf pups.  And good gods did they grew. Each day it was harder for their master to control them. As enormous as they were, they were still puppies. And puppies didn’t like to listen.

After eight months with them, they were now larger than normal wolves,  with all the excitation of young dogs, yapping and playing with everything they could put their big paws in.

Finally, after a nother  traumatized servant  and one last chewed skirt , Lady Catelyn put her foot down. 

"Those beast are your responsibility," she said firmly, as all of her children sat together in front of her. "You all promised your father you were going to take care of them yourselves."

"That's what we are doing Mother," said Robb with a frown.

"Oh, you do son? You feed them, take care of them, yes, but now you have to train them also."

“Train them? But they are wolves!” said Arya. “Wolves don’t train! They’re free to do what they want.”

“Not while they live here I’m afraid.”

“But Mother...”

“Enough Arya. You all will discipline those beasts or they'll have to go. And that's final."

The lady left the room after those words, not letting any of her children respond.

Arya huffed and crossed her arms on her chest, clearly unhappy. Kyria sighed and rub her head. They didn't have any choice it seems.

“So what are we doing now?” asked Robb after a minute of silent contemplation.

Well it seems we don't have any choice in the matter." responded Kyria. "We'll have to train our wolves."

“Train?” asked Bran, blinking his big eyes. “But How?”

“I have no idea...” responded Robb.

“I may have," said Kyria.

Five other pair of eyes were on her in a second. Kyria bites her lip and  moved in a chair.  The five others followed her with big attentive eyes. It was kind of intimidating...

“We all agree that our wolves are no pet or mere dogs.” she started. “So we can’t train them like so...”

“Why not?” asked Sansa.

“Because they are not dogs Sansa," said Robb.

“But if we train them-”

“Don't try to model them in some sort of sweet little puppies Sansa, you won't succeed," said Kyria. "As much as your Lady is sweet and soft they are wolves. Even manners can’t change that I’m afraid," 

Sansa pouted, not looking convinced but Kyria didn't care. The sooner she realized the truth about her wolf the better. She had already started walking everywhere with the poor thing attached to her by some leather leach. With ribbon. This was sad to see.

“So what do you propose dear sister?”

She bites her lips, holding the gaze with the golden eyes of her wolf sat at her feet.

“Wolves are pack animals. They need their family to live.”

“We could still train them together, as a pack," said Robb cutting any thought Kyria could have had in the matter.

“Yes! That could work!” pipped Arya with excitation.

She looked at Sansa, her eyes huge and full of hope. She looked conflicted, the poor dear. Torn between saying no at something that sounded so much like a mistake, at least for her. So far from what she thought proper -Kyria didn't despair to chase away that silly notion from her sister brain-. And on the other hand, she seems to want to spend her time with the rest of them.

Kyria hoped she made the right choice.

Of course, with some help from Rickon’s puppy eyes, and Arya’s hopeful glance, she did.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

They started to train their wolves together.

In the courtyard at first, then in the Godswoods. They train them to obey their command, to control themselves, and to hunt for their food. All together.

Every time Kyria had a thought for Jon, alone at the Wall. She would have liked him to participate in those sessions. He had a wolf too after all. And as Father was so fond of saying

_When the snowfall and the white wind blow, the lone wolf die but the pack survives_.

She hoped Jon will survive up there. Or will find a pack of his own…

Sansa keeps protesting until the first time they brought the pups to hunt together.

Seeing her sweet Lady coming back from her hunt with her brothers and sister, just as eager to eat their game like the others  achieve to break her vision of her companion . The girl looked at her wolf feasting with all the savagery of the wolf she was for a long time. Kyria didn't envy her. Recently, a lot of what she thought of their world seemed to crash under her watch. But Kyria couldn't help but feel grateful for that. Losing a bit of her naivety couldn't harm her. 

She dreamed of the long grass meadow again that night. With the screams coming from the Gods knew where.

There was still no one, but her. And an endless meadow of long grass.

She had it before, since this famous evening of her… flowering. But no matter how many times she had it she couldn’t get what it means… Well other than a warning for her coming bleeding… It happened at least once a month. Right before the… infamous days.

Still… she didn’t get it. Why a grassy meadow? Why screams?

More out of habit than anything else, Kyria tried to understand. She went back to her old habits, the library. It took a couple of days, but, for the first time, she found an answer in the books.

“ The Dothraki see...” she read out loud pensively.

Essos? Why would she dream of somewhere that far?

“Kyria?”

“Robb!” she smiled.

“What are you looking for?”

“I- I’m not sure. I had a strange dream last night.”

He frowns, looking immediately concerned.

“ What kind of dream?”

She looked back at the map in her hands.

“I don’t know how to explain this...It doesn’t make any sense...” she said her finger slowly tracing the contour of the letters. D. O.

“And… did you find something?”

"I dream of… of a meadow of endless grass. Long grass of vibrant green, and nothing else..." she looked at him. " I'm not sure but it sounds like the Dothraki Sea of Essos."

“The Dothraki Sea? Why would you dream of something like that?”

“I have no idea...” she said.

Robb sighed and looked back at the book.

They stood silently for some time, each one thinking of too many things to voice it.

Then Robb smiled at her and asked if she had a book for him today.

“Are you enjoying this Robb Stark?” she teased.

He shrugged.

"I don't know, it kind of grows on me. Some things are not that bad."

She snorted.

“Are you growing up brother?”

“Show some respect little minx. I’m still older than you.”

She laughed, and look for a book. One of the old ones, written before the Targaryen reign. Something an old Maester write about the way which the old king of winter use to manage their kingdom.

Robb took the book from her and study it. He made a sound on the back of his throat, his eyebrow high on his forehead.

“What is it?”

“Maester Luwin wanted me to read that one too," he said pensively. "It's about the Bolton, and our… common past."

“The Red Kings...” said Kyria.

Robb nodded.

“Have you heard?” asked Robb after a minute.

“What?”

“The Bolton heir, Domeric. He’s dead.”

_If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention._

Kyria blinked and shacked her head.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes. Everything is alright.” she dismissed his worries with a wave of her hand, and opened the book.

“So, where do we start professor?” he joked, with a tiny smile on his annoying face.

“Don’t start!”

He laughed and took his place around the table.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

One day, like any other, Kyria was on her way to the courtyard to find her sisters for one of their little training session when her legs bumped in something. A little wiggling and giggling something.

“Kyria!” pipped Rickon, as he smiled at her with all the strength of his little teeth.

“Hello, Darling. How are you today?"

He giggled again and roll on the ball of his feet.

“I’m very well malady! And you? Did you see Shaggy?”

Rickon was never polite for long. She smiled.

"Shaggy? No, I didn't see him… Now that you mention it I didn't see Frost either… where could they be..." she wondered out loud.

Rickon opened big eyes and nodded at her.

“Maybe they are together! Maybe they are hiding!” he said with great excitation.

“Maybe… would you like to come looking for them with me?”

“Yes!”

He happily grabs her hand and almost drags her in the corridor. She laughed again.

"Easy there, little lord! We have to think about where we are going to look for before!"

“Ha? But we are going to lose them!”

“Are we? So you know where they are!”

He pouted.

“No… But they could change their hiding place! Like when we play hide and seek with Robb and Jon!”

“Oh I see...” she nodded. “So, little genius, where would they be?”

“Hm… outside!”

“Good idea! Sansa and Arya are outside, do you want to go ask them?”

“Yes!”

They made their way through the courtyard. Rickon happily babbling about everything he could think of apparently.

He fell silent as they made their way to the stairs. She waited for him to talk again.

“Kyria… where is Jon?”

She stopped, blinked and continued.

"Well, Jon is… Jon is… He went with uncle Benjen."

“To the Wall?”

“Exactly, to the Wall.”

"When will he come back? He misses a lot of training with Shaggy and the others… Mama will be angry at Ghost."

Kyria smiled. To be young and innocent again…

Well not that she remembered it anyway...

“That’s true, but you know, Jon is… he’s like uncle Benjen now.”

“Why?”

"Because he went to the Wall. Maester Luwin explained it to you, didn't he? About the wall?"

“The wall was built by Bran!” pipped Rickon excitedly.

Kyria barked a loud laugh. One she tried to control as much as she could, but the image was funny. Her little brother is as old as the Wall was indeed funny.

_I have to stop being Bran Kyria. You can’t change it._

Her laugh strangles itself in her throat and the cough a little.

She shacked her head and look back at the round little face of Rickon.

“No Darling, it’s not Bran who built the wall.”

“But Maester Luwin said it!”

“He said it was Bran the Builder.”

“Yes! Bran!”

"Rickon, Bran is a common name in our family," she explained, crouching in front of him. "The first Stark ever mentioned in our History was named Brandon Stark. It's him, Bran the Builder. And he is also the one who build Winterfell. A very, very long time ago. Way before you or Bran was even born."

“Before you too? And Robb?”

“Oh yes before Robb too.”

“And Mother? And Father?”

“Yes, Mother and Father too."

“Oh...” he said slowly, frowning in concentration.

He had trouble with the idea of a world before their family apparently...

“And since then, many many Stark were called Brandon. At least one in each generation.”

"Generton?”

She giggled.

“Well, for example, we have our Bran, and one of Father’s sibling was called Brandon before him.”

“Oh… they all have the same name!”

“Exactly! Aren’t you a smart little boy!” she smiled rubbing the mop of curls on the top of his head. “Come on, let’s find our wolves.”

Rickon nodded with enthusiasm and made his little way through the stairs.

They found their sisters in the courtyard, Arya helping Sansa with her bow.

“Sansa shoot with a bow!”

“Didn’t she?” nodded Kyria “ And she’s better at it than anyone else!”

“Really?”

“Yes. If you ask nicely, maybe she’ll teach you how to do it.”

“Really?!”

“Really.”

Rickon squeaked and ran to Sansa. When Kyria came close enough to hear what they were saying, the little boy was pulling the redhead's skirt with a series of "please please please" that seemed to annoy Arya more than anything else.

“What are you doing here Rickon?” asked Arya with a pout.

The baby boy blinked let go of the skirt.

“Oh! I was looking for Shaggy! Kyria said to ask if you would want to help us look for Shaggy! And Frost too!”

“I see...” said Sansa with a smile. “but we were supposed to train with our bow this afternoon...”

"Oh..." he looked back to Kyria with pleading eyes. Kyria bites her lips.

“How about this, you stay with us while we are training, and then, once it’s over, I help you find Shaggy.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

They trained for maybe an hour, then Rickon dragged her all around the keep to find the wolves. Who went for a hunt.

They came back sometime during the evening, all sloppy like only wolves could do after a good meal.

She dreamed of the mad dog that night, as he tears apart the feathers of the little things, one after the other. Almost reverently.

Frost spend half of the night curled around her. He was now big enough for his head to be on the same heigh than hers when she sat. And still growing.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Arya's name day went and go, as well as Kyria's and Sansa's without many other events important enough to be mentioned.

There was never anything that exciting happening at Winterfell during a time of Peace.

During the seventh month, around the fourth or the fifth day, Father received the Glover, who stayed a fortnight, after what, he took a trip for some affair between two houses. He took Robb with him, always eager to from his successor in the leadership of the North.

She felt a bit alone while they were gone, missing greatly her time with either of them on the Godswoods or during her afternoon at the Library.

During those days, she spends more time with Sansa and Bran. Taking back this old habit she seemed to have before her fall to read with her little brother. She could also stay with her sister, whom friend seemed still cold.

The girl took great pleasure at helping her perfecting her sewing technique. They made a dress together, with some help with Arya, when she feels like it. She didn't do much, of course, but she still stayed with them, talking about anything they could think about.

Once, Sansa shared her regrets about Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel.

"If they don't like what you told them, then they don't matter," said Arya.

“But they are my friends...”

“Not if they act like that Sansa.”

“So what, you don’t think like them so they reject you? That’s suck for a friendship.”

“Arya, language.”

“But it’s true.”

It was…

Sansa sighed sadly.

“Don’t worry sister, you still have us.”

Sansa smiled, and even shyly put her head on Kyria's shoulder. This afternoon ended up with a hug from the three sisters, who took their discussion up to Kyria's room, where they stayed all night.

Surprisingly, Kyria didn’t dream that night.

…

Well, she did. But not the usual one.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_His breath was slow and strong. She could feel the cold hair of the night making its way through his throat and lungs._

_His brothers and sisters were running along with him, Big Brother Alpha in front of the rest of them. Little sweet pack sister was behind them, always slower than the rest of them. Another sister pack was the fastest. Pack brother black was the fiercer in the hunt. But he and Big Brother alpha were the strongest. The biggest too._

_Big Brother Alpha called, warning them of the sight of prey, and pack brother brown yipped in return._

_It was always strange to hunt together. There was a hole between them, where pack brother white was supposed to be. But they knew where he was. To the north, after the big white mountain, where Mother came from before she births them. Even far away, they could still feel his presence. He was alive and protecting his human as they all did. It was their purpose, to protect the Human they belonged with._

_Pack brother black found the lead first. He called and took the direction of the prey. He followed him, with both pack sister behind them._

_The flesh was still warm and alive when he bites it. The prey cried but with one movement of his head, Big Brother alpha killed it. He growled at them and took the first bite like it was his due as Big Brother Alpha. Then he could eat too, then both pack brothers and then pack sisters._

_Once their belly full, they made their way to the big rocky home their Humans lived in._

_Big brother alpha was back before his human, who will be here on the morrow with his Father and the other humans that came to that trip._

_Maybe his human would be happier with her brother pack home._

_The human at the entrance let them pass, smelling slightly like fear. Something who seemed to be more common since they grew enough to be taller than them if they stood on their anterior legs._

_Big Brother Alpha bark one last time and made his way back to his human, and each one of them took the direction of their own._

_Both pack sisters stayed with him, as their human were with his._

_They found them all asleep like a good puppy pile. He whined and sniffed his human. She wasn’t scared that night._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Kyria woke up to find Frost big head looking right back at her, his big yellow eyes not phased by the sudden movement of her own. He blinked slowly at her, his muzzle twitching with the movement of his tongue on his nose. There was blood there. A hunt?

“Hello you...” she whispered.

His big tale waves happily behind him as he licked her nose. She snorted.

“Oh, you smell like old meat my friend.”

Not bothered one bit, Frost yapped.

The sound woke up  the girls in her bed . They happily welcomed the two other wolves lying on the ground. 

Kyria thought for some time of her dream. But she couldn’t explain it. Or she didn’t want to. One mystical power gifted by the Gods was enough for the year.

Robb arrived later in the afternoon. She tried to find him just after welcoming her father. She was looking through the Godswood when a giggle made her turn back.

She froze right where she was.

Thrown against a tree, a handmaiden was flirtatiously giggling in a familiar mop of auburn hair. Attached to a head just as familiar. A head who seemed absorbed by the girl's cleavage.

"My lord..." moaned the girl, her small hand holding Kyria's brother's curls as her life depended on it.

Oh my…

Well at least someone is having some fun...

Slowly, Kyria took a step back, ignoring as much as she could the heat on her cheeks. Hoping, praying all the gods she could think of for no little stick under her foot.

There was no stick. But there was a giant wolf convince he is still a puppy, and eager to see his brother… Or herself she couldn’t say.

Anyway, Greywind found her, and jumping from virtually nowhere, took great pleasure at licking conscientiously every inch of her face. Like the pup, he still thought he was.

The noised disturbed the master of the beast who looked at her from behind his shoulder.

Seeing him losing all of his colors at her sight was kind of funny. She could have laughed if the situation was not so embarrassing.

“K-Kyria!” he squeaked.

“I’m not here!” she blew up, waving her hands in front of her. “I didn’t see anything! I’m not here and I will continue on my way of not being here while you do… whatever you’re doing- and I don’t want to know what it is!”

“Kyria-”

“Not here!” she squalled again, almost running out of the scene.

She spends all of her days trying very hard to forget all about this particular event. She almost succeeds. But then, Robb sat for their supper, all blushing and not daring look at her, and Kyria remembered why.

She learns an important lesson that day. As much as she loved her family, there was some part of it she didn't want to know. Not at all...

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

All in all, the months that followed the depart of her brother Jon were… boring lets being honest here...

She observed the days, one after the other with an eagerness never truly satisfied. There weren't many things happening at Winterfell during a time of peace. Even more so as a child of the family without many responsibilities… other than learning and buying your time before the famous day where she'll have to leave her home forever.

She couldn’t put her finger on why she felt so bored. She had so many things to do every day. But, there was something, a part of her that was yearning for more. For something… more exiting maybe?

She wasn’t even sure of what it was. But she felt…

This was quite similar to her moments of numbness. While she could hear nothing else than the beat of her own heart. There was a part of her somewhere that yearned for something. An empty place that needed to be filled. Like she was at the top of a cliff, her foot too close to the edge, ready to jump. Like the entire universe waited for her to jump.

It was exhausting. And annoying. She couldn’t enjoy completely her time with her family while her mind was always eager for something else. She was waiting.

Sometimes, as she lay in her bed, Frost’ s warm body draped around her, she thought maybe she was waiting for one of her vision to come true. Not because she wanted to witness all of the horrors she keeps dreaming about.  She wasn’t that mad yet.  But… Maybe she wanted proof. A proof to show herself she wasn't insane. 

A proof to change those incessant visions that  polluted her mind night after night. A proof that she did suffer all of those nightmares for something. 

She needed it. She needed to make them disappear. If they did happen, and if she did something, anything to make  it different, maybe she could change them. Maybe she could give something better for her family.

Sometimes, when she was alone, she found herself humming slowly this song that haunted her mind for many nights. The song she even changed, in hope that one day, she might do something right.

_And who are you…_

_The proud Lord say…_

But nothing happened.

So Kyria lived her simple life, stifling as much as she could the thirst inside her, that begged for something more.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

She could have to keep going like that for a long time, if not for an event, at the beginning of the Year 298 after the Conquest.

One evening, Father asked all of them to stay after the evening meal. His face was even more serious than what they were used too. Kyria’s heart immediately starts beating. Something was happening. _Finally. Finally, something was happening._

“A raven arrived from the Capital.” he started in a solemn voice. “It’s from the King.”

“The King?” repeated Sansa, a glint in her eyes.

Kyria’s heart stopped. Something in the back of her mind moved. She knew. She knew. Something happened. Something happened and she knew. She didn’t know how or why, or even what she knew, but she knew.

Her mouth moved with his father’s words.

" The Hand of the King is dead," he said. "King Robert and his family are coming for a visit. Here. At Winterfell."

“Really? How wonderful! The King! Here!” repeated the little lady. She never seemed that exited.

“Why would he come so far in the North?” asked Robb.

"There is only one reason for the King presence," Kyria whispered.

No one but Robb seemed to hear her. Good. He might as well hear it.

“He will ask Father to be the next hand.”

“What?”

“Is there something wrong Robb?” asked Lady Catelyn, her brow frowned.

"No, no. Everything is Well mother."

She hummed but didn’t say anything else.

Father looked at them for another moment, then, spoke again.

" The King will be there in one month," he said with a strong voice.

Kyria’s heart was beating so quickly, her vision was clouded for a minute. She grabbed Robb’s hand in hers and held it as strongly as she could.

This was it. This was where all started.  Finally.  Finally, something was happening. Oh, she almost lost hope.  Something was about to happen in her home. Something different. Life-changing.

_Game on._

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you think?  
> Good? Bad?  
> Boring?
> 
> I tried to write this chapter with the idea that Kyria is bored. I think it is why I don't like it very much. There's a couple of things I like of course, the relationship between Kyria and all of her siblings, the part with Robb in the Godswood was fun (xD) and I had fun writing the wolf dream. But other than that it's more a way to show you how things are before everything started. Where we start from, with Kyria and her family.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and I'll see you... well when I have the seventh chapter written and edited as I like.  
> And YAY! King's Robert is coooomiiiiing!


	7. Chapter 7:King Robert Baratheon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King is cooomiiiing~  
> And, you know, the other ones... With a plus one. Because... reasons!  
> Welcome to the plot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> So, this chapter is one of my favorites so far. For a very obvious reason. I am officially on the plot of the show! That's it, we're there! Here comes the King with our favorite Queen, (or, you know, the one we love to hate) and Jaime and Tyrion and dear Joffrey! Aren't you excited to see him again!? :D  
> ... Yeah me neither. But unfortunately, he has to live for now!
> 
> So, I made a few changes of course, from the original plot, and I still didn't read the book so I don't know how inaccurate those changes are...  
> But anyway, we're getting serious here, so I really hope you'll enjoy this one, and, see you at the end!

**Chapter 7: King Robert Baratheon**

**Sansa**

The King! The king was coming! Oh, she couldn’t’ve heard of better news. She was going to meet the royal family! The King, the Queen, and more important the Crown Prince! The prince! Oh, everything was truly perfect now!

Sansa giggled and roll on her fur, under the curious gaze of her darling Lady. Her head was full of dreams, and hopes. She was going to meet the King and the Queen and the Prince! It was as if all of her dreams were coming true in front of her eyes!

All her life Sansa had wished to meet the royal family. She grew up with stories and southern songs of fair ladies and brave knights fighting for justice and honor. And love. The one true love of a knight for his lady. She always wanted to be married to a southern Lord, and evolve in those sophisticated circles just like in one of those songs she loved so much.

For her, the Royal family was the embodiment of all her dreams.

Since she learned the news, her mind couldn’t stop wondering about so many things. Will she meet a lot of members of the court? Will the Queen like her? The prince? The King? Will Father and the King...

Oh, she could barely think it, without fainting in joy, but maybe… The crown prince was her age, or so she thought, and Father and the King were the greatest friend who ever exists. Maybe… Maybe the King will ask for her hand for the sake of his son. And so… she would be Queen!

The most powerful woman on the seven kingdoms! Married to the greatest man alive in the Kingdom. The one sits on the Iron Throne…

How wonderful could that be? She couldn’t wait for them to arrive. She couldn’t help but hope for all of those things.

And, even more important, if her father accepted a betrothed between her and Prince Joffrey, she would finally be away from Winterfell.

She didn’t hate this place, it was her home after all. But Winterfell was so… dull. Nothing was interesting for a young girl like her. Apart from the Godswood whom she didn’t like that much, and the Glass gardens there weren’t many places she could compare to one of the gardens of the south.

There was no big city that closes of Winterfell, except for Wintertown of course, but out of Winter, the town wasn’t that busy. Nothing to compare to the half-million of people of Kingslanding.

White Harbor was the busiest town in the North, and Father only brought them here once, when Bran was still a baby. It was so long ago and she had been too small to really enjoy the city. Only Kyria had explored the street, with Jon and Robb.

Kyria…

She knew Kyria felt the same as her about Winterfell. At least sometimes. The older girl didn’t know it but she sometimes had this longing gaze. Looking at the line between the forest and the sky, like a part of her wanted to go there.

Before Father’s announcement, she liked to see this expression on her sister’s face. At least she wasn’t the only one who wanted more than what they had.

But now…

Kyria was maybe the only black spot in her perfect vision of the visit of the King. Kyria was older than her. If Father was to accept a betrothal for one of her daughters, it has to be Kyria first. That was a problem.

She liked this new relationship between her and her sisters. Even more so since she took Arya’s defense against her friends. She kind of regretted it for a time after that. Jeyne and Beth didn’t talk to her for months.

But, then, she could spend a lot more time with Kyria and Arya. For the first time maybe since Arya was born, she felt like she really had two sisters, not just one big sister and a tomboy that took great pleasure at ruining all of her days.

She was glad Uncle Benjen made them talk to each other. She may still not always agree with Arya, but at least now they didn’t hate each other. And even better, she could learn something more with her and Kyria. Something new, and somehow exciting.

She was aware that shooting with a bow was not something her mother or Septa would approve. But for once, Sansa wanted to be something else than what they wanted from her. She wanted to be something more than just the proper daughter of Ned Stark. Of course, she was never going to roll around in the mud like Arya or her brothers, but there was nothing wrong at doing something she was good at and sharing it with her sisters. That was what sisters do after all.

But as much as she loved this new development, she yearned for more. She sighed for bright sun and a deep blue sky, for the hot wind of the south, and the beauty of the silk in the ladies' dress. She sighed for the glory of a tourney and the satisfactory weigh of a crown of roses on her head.

She wanted the South her Mother promised her. And a golden Prince to show her his world. And for her to carry his babies, all with golden hair and fair skin. Oh, what a dream it would be. A perfect life.

She loved her sisters and never regretted not being the eldest before now. She liked the idea of being the middle child. She felt like Kyria had many things resting on her shoulders, expectations from other peoples and she didn’t want any of that. She already had enough. But still… what a shame to be the second child when a prince was coming so far North. When a betrothal was a possibility between their families.

The girl sighed dreamily, her hand absent-mindedly caressing Lady’s thick fur. If only…

Maybe… maybe she still could… After all of the three of them, she was the prettiest. And the more lady-like. More at ease in the art of distinguished women. Maybe the King could make an exception and favor appearance and skills instead of birthright… Maybe she could still be Queen!

Oh, that would be wonderful!

If there was one thing she ever wanted, that was this. Kyria would understand. Of course the will, she’s Kyria. All she cares about is her books and hanging around with Robb and the others. She told her herself, Sansa recalled, how she wanted to learn as many things as she could. What use could knowledge benefice a queen of the Seven Kingdom? A Queen gives her King babies. She doesn’t need to be able to do anything else, then carrying babies and looking good enough for other ladies to take her as an example.

Queen must surely be the best life one could wish for. What a dream!

Oh if only she was born before Kyria!

Sansa sighed again and Lady licked her cheek, nuzzling in her hair with curiosity.

“We will have a great life Lady, you’ll see,” she whispered in her sweet wolf ear.

She fell asleep with her head full of dreams of a handsome prince and beautiful babies.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Sansa’s head was still clouded with dreams as she made her way through the couple of days that followed the announcement. She couldn’t stop smiling and prepare for this glorious day.

She contemplates stopping her meeting with her sisters to have more time sewing her dresses for the court, but Kyria dissuaded her. She won’t have many occasions to shoot once the King here. And as much as it wasn’t proper, she loved it very much. So she continued.

The sight of their father on the roof looking at them with pride in his eyes as they were practicing was something she couldn’t get enough of. She never felt her father's pride like that before.

But, as the date of the King's arrival came closer, her thought turned back to the Prince and the betrothal that will certainly happen between their families.

She loved Kyria, she truly did. But the idea of her sister having the place she dreamed of all of her life was infuriating to young Sansa.

After two days of inner torment, she decided to talk directly to her sister. Surely Kyria would understand. She would ask her to refuse a betrothal to the Prince if ever Father proposes it to her and let her take her place. Kyria doesn’t even want to be queen after all…

Her little schemes eased her mind and she decided to talk to her sister this very day.

Fortunately, Kyria wasn’t hard to find. The library was usually the easiest spot. This time didn’t disappoint her. Kyria was elegantly seated on her usual chair, her dress carefully displayed around her legs like it was supposed to be. Sansa took a minute to observe her sister’s new dress, the very same she knew she had worked on for months now. It wasn’t as good as Sansa could have done, but it was still pretty. The shade of blue, lighter than what Kyria used to wear was showing her pretty eyes. Sansa liked it.

“Sansa!” Kyria said happily.

The girl smiled brightly and took the hand her sister gave her.

“What are you doing here? Can I do something for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t come here often, except when you want to talk to whoever is in here.”

Sansa felt her cheek blush, without really knowing why.

It was true after all that books were not her favorite pastime.

“I-”

“Oh don’t worry sister, this isn’t a critic. Merely a point of view.” she smiled again. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I wondered if- You know about the King and the court will come here soon. And- I can’t help but think about all of this. About the King and- Oh Kyria can you believe it! The Crown prince will be here too! It’s like- like in those songs we heard all of our lives! It’s- Oh I can’t wait!”

Sansa sighed dreamily, her head filled with images of the wonderful time they were going to have. She couldn’t wait to see what the prince looked like. He must be handsome, surely. The princes were always handsome. And everybody keeps saying the Queen was the most beautiful woman in the country. In the world even. And the King was known to have been a mighty warrior during the war against the Targaryens, or the Ironmen’s rebellion.

Father always had many stories about this time. For Sansa, the prince couldn’t be anything else than a great warrior with the beauty of his mother. A perfect prince.

“And the Queen! Oh, Kyria can you imagine the Queen! The most beautiful woman of all the Seven Kingdoms! The woman every other lady is looking at if they want to wear what is best at court. Imagine how wonderful she might be!”

Kyria smiled. If it was a bit tense, the girl didn’t notice.

“And why do you need me, Sansa? You seemed to manage pretty well on your own.”

“Yes but-”

Sansa sighed again and took a sit. Kyria frowned, surely worried by Sansa’s expression.

“I’ve been wondering. Since, since Father told us about the King’s visit. “

“Wondering? About what?”

“About the King. And the prince.”

“Yes?”

“He- You know my… All my life sister, I dreamed about the South. About the ladies and the lords, the knights, and the tourneys. And, I can’t help but think about it. The court coming here, it’s like a dream coming true you know.”

“Yes, I know.” smiled Kyria.

Sansa could have noticed the slight frown on her sister’s forehead, but as she was so focused on what she was trying to do, she missed it.

“Yes, so. I- Father is friend with the King. Had been since he was a boy, and I know- I know both of them to think of the other as brothers. So I thought maybe...” Sansa took a deep breath. “Maybe the king will want to marry his son to one of Father’s daughters.”

“Indeed.” nodded Kyria, apparently not really in the mood to help her sister in her babbling.

“And- Oh, Kyria you’re the oldest!” the girl cried, not able to contain her distress anymore. “And- I know it’s only proper for the younger sister to marry before the eldest, but I couldn’t help- I hoped to ask you if you would mind… if you could let me be the Prince’s fiancé instead.”

“You want to take my place at the prince’s fiancé?”

“Yes!”

“For a proposal that didn’t even occur yet?”

“But I’m sure it will come to that sister! How could it be anything else? Father always wanted to unite his family with the Baratheon! And the King feels the same! I’m sure they’ll ask. And I-”

Kyria gripped Sansa’s hand, stopping her plead immediately. She smiled softly and seemed thoughtful for a minute. Sansa bites back any other thing she might want to say, letting her sister compose herself instead. A part of her couldn’t endure those long minutes, but she knew her sister enough to understand that she was thinking carefully every word before pronouncing it.

Some day she’ll have to ask her why she felt the need to do something like that. Words were words, no matter how you arranged them in a sentence.

“You see Sansa, it’s not that I don’t want to do what you ask me to. It’s just that… We don’t even know if this is what the King is after by coming here with his son. Maybe he’s already promised to someone.”

“Impossible. He’s the crown prince, we would know if he was.” responded the girl in a heartbeat.

Kyria smiled.

“True. But Sansa, it does not mean that you will be chosen as the future queen. King Robert is not the prince’s only parent. Maybe Queen Cersei has someone else in mind.”

The girl turned white, a look of horror on her face. No! It was- no! Could this be…

“D-do you think this is possible? He could- he could...” she didn’t end her sentence, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

This couldn’t be! What could she do! If the Queen had someone else in mind for her son she couldn’t be Queen! This was horrible! Oh, and she had been so impatient! This was a disaster. The biggest disaster that ever occurred in the history of her life. What was she supposed to do now?

“I don’t know Sansa.” said the redhead, dragging her sister out of her inner torment. “ All I say is….don’t be so sure about all of that while the court isn’t even here yet. We’ll see what’s happen when the times come.”

She was right of course. Just like this discussion they had so long ago. She didn’t have any proof of the potential betrothal of the prince. She needed to make her mind. And let other people do the same. Once the Queen and the King will be there, she’ll have all the time in the world to show them how good she could be as a wife for their son.

That said… Kyria still hadn’t answered her question. None of her plans could be if the prince was betrothed to her sister.

“…But if the King do ask Father, will you let me take your place as the crown’s prince fiancé?” she dared ask anyway.

“Sansa...”

“Will you? Please! This is what I’ve always wanted! My whole life! I’ve never asked for anything else! It’s the dream of my life Kyria, please say yes!”

Kyria sighed and pressed Sansa’s hand in her own.

“We’ll see Sansa. We’ll see...”

The redhead pouted, falling back on her sit, but didn’t say anything else on the matter. She knew when a conversation was ended. But she was determined. She would have her sister’s word. She’ll make sure of it.

After some time, Kyria closes her book and stood up.

“Will you come with me sister?”

“Where?”

“I wish to take Frost outside. Into the woods. You could bring Lady along with us. Even Arya and Nymeria!”

“Oh, what a great idea!” squealed the girl, clapping her hands. “Let’s do that. Oh, maybe you could help me learn to mount.”

“Mount? Today?”

“Oh, maybe not today, but you could sister.”

Kyria smiled.

“Why not.”

Sansa didn’t wait long to go find her little sister. She couldn’t be happier with this new relationship with Arya and Kyria.

Thanks the gods for Uncle Benjen.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Robb**

Happy giggles momentarily caught Robb’s attention. One look outside made him smile. His three sisters were giggling, the wolves on their heels, on their way to gods know where. With an amused snort, he saw the big shadow of Greywind following them. Traitor.

Recently they spend a lot of time into the woods. More often than not with a bow and their wolves. Robb often wondered what they did out there. Were they training? It must be so, as they took their bow. Kyria looked particularly pleased with her brand new one, a gift from their Father for her incoming name day. It was still in at least another couple of months, but still, Father gave it to her.

Sometimes, Robb felt like his father was more excited by this new development between the sisters than the sisters themselves. Robb didn’t get why. When there was just Arya, he wasn’t that fond of his girl doing all of those boy things. Or, at least, he listened to Mother when she has forbidden it.

He still didn’t know how mother took all the situation, now that he thought about it. Was she even aware? Maybe that was why they trained into the woods now… To prevent Mother of discovering it and forbid it?

Robb smiled and went back to the book on his desk. Since he knew about Kyria and her gift, he often thought about it. Her lists were a constant in his mind. Worrisome, like a shadow watching him. Waiting for an opportunity to hit. The scenes she described. She never put any names on it, except for Bran, but… there was something in her words that woke him up at night.

He was worried.

He took it as a joke at first, her need to… prepare them, him and Jon. It was fun, in a way, to see his bookworm of a sister almost desperately put their noses in her dusty books. But, then, he had read them again. Those lists of her. He had nightmares about them for a time. He didn’t talk about it, of course, it wasn’t his place to have fears. He was the older brother, the heir. He couldn’t be scared. It was his duty to help his siblings, to support them as much as he could.

But it was also his duty to do as much as he could for his people. So, if his sister with her visions of the future was telling him that learning to manipulate peoples was a way to prepare him for what might come to them, then he listened.

And so, after her show of this dusty little book about manipulation and whatnot, Robb decided to do… extra studies, as he could call it. He brought the book back into his room, and study it.

He discovers that it wasn’t that much about manipulation, but more about how to understand people, their intentions and the way you can bring them to go the way you want them to go. Or something like that.

...Well, to be frank, it was about manipulation. But a subtitle kind of it.

Without realizing it, he found himself quite fascinated by the book. It was always about two things. Talking. Listening.

It reminded him about this discussion they had in the library, him, Jon and Kyria.

If you want to talk learn to listen. Or something like that. Was it the opposite? He couldn't remember. According to this book, both things were complimentary.

Robb sighed and rub his forehead.

Hushed noises coming from the corridor momentarily caught his attention. Some handmaiden was talking with animation about the only subject that seemed to interests the Keep those days.

The King.

Robb sighed again and looked back to his window.

He still couldn’t shake out this feeling he had as Father broke the news. He still remembers the almost manic glint in Kyria’s eyes, the words she whispered as Father talked to them.

_He’ll ask Father to be the next hand._

At first, he thought it was one of her visions. She sometimes had this tendency to say things like that, out of nowhere. Robb had since learned, if not to ignore them, not to pay that much attention to those times. He knew she couldn’t do anything to prevent them, and it wasn’t always important to notice them. He was used to it.

But this time was different. It took him a moment to understand that what she said has nothing to do with her visions, and everything to do with logic. For what other reason the King would do the trip all the way to the north?

He knew from Father’s stories, that Robert Baratheon had two friend he trusted more than anyone else in this world. Jon Arryn who basically raised him, and Ned Stark. With Jon Arryn dead, that leaved Father. And from what he understood of those southern politics, he certainly didn’t make many friends at KingsLanding which mean Father was his only choice.

He didn’t like that. Not at all. He didn’t want to be a Lord. Not yet. He didn’t want to watch Kyria’s visions coming true. He didn’t want the King to come here. He didn’t want anything to change. But it was already too late. Things had changed. Jon wasn’t there anymore. And the King was coming.

_Hope for the best, prepare for the worst._

This was quickly becoming his new mantra.

And who knows! Kyria had those visions for a reason. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe they’ll succeed in preventing it.

He could still hope.

Besides, what else could he do? He was his father’s heir, his place was in Winterfell, within his people, and his family. If Father ended up going South, he’ll have to stay behind.

There must always be a Stark at Winterfell. He knew he had to be this Stark. But at least he wasn’t alone. Kyria would help him. He also knew that.

With a sight, the young man turned his attention to the book on his desk. There was a good side in all of this. At least he discovered that books were not as boring as he had thought during his numerous lessons with Maester Luwin. He even quite enjoyed a few of them recently. The ones about War were fascinating. He didn’t know why but he was bathing in this specific knowledge with the eagerness of a pig in the mud. There were so many things, tactics, battle plans… so many ways to play with your adversary’s expectations. It was like a game.

Things more political were less interesting, in his humble opinion. But it had its moments too.

With a little huff, Robb rubs his forehead one last time and went back to his studies. He read for about another hour or so when a knock on the door stopped him.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing Stark? All alone in your room, like a moody little lord?” said the voice of his friend. “Are you reading? By the Gods, it’s worse than I thought!”

“Theon!” he said, a smile on his face. “At least I can read. Can you say the same you illiterate moron?”

The Greyjoy laughed, face bright and lighted by the sun. How the man could always laugh, Robb often wondered.

“Come on Stark, your father wants to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Something about the King’s arrival.”

Robb immediately lost his smile. A thing Theon didn’t miss.

“What is it with the face? What is the matter? Scared of the king? Or the prince maybe? I heard he’s pretty enough to have all those southern girls by his feet.”

“So what?”

“So, those poor girls obviously need to meet some fresh meat. A northern boy or two maybe.”

“Or a prick from the Iron island I guess.”

Theon laughed again and went to the lord’s solar, Robb by his heels. There, they found Lady Catelyn, looking carefully at the massive beast Shaggydog had become, all draped around the small frame of little Rickon. The boy looked in heaven, hidden in his pet’s fur.

“Robb, where are your sisters?” asked the lady, once her son was inside the room.

Robb shrugged not that excited to blow up his sister’s secret. Lord Stark sighed and with a nod asked Theon to go back and look for the little ladies. Bran smiled brightly at his brother and pat the empty space next to him. Robb took place.

“What is it, Father?”

“Not until everyone is here.” responded the man, a hand holding his wife’s in a way that made Robb wonder.

Was Father worried about something?

Robb’s mind wandered in a thousand directions for a moment. He rubbed his forehead and took it upon himself to wait for father’s announcement. He knew the man enough not to ask any other question. He wouldn’t answer anyway.

A couple of minutes later, the three girls came to the room, four massive direwolves behind them. Greywind came to him, tail wiggling behind him and looking as innocent as a giant wolf could. Robb tried to frown. He failed.

Lady Catelyn frowned, at the disheveled sight of her three daughters.

“Where have you been again?”

“Into the woods Mother. We wanted to go for a walk,” respond Kyria without missing a beat.

She even pulls the trick to discretely hide Sansa’s guilty face with her body, her smile still as bright and innocent. Damn, she was good.

It was disturbing to see how good she was at lying...

Lady Catelyn didn’t seem to buy it also. Too bad. Two-point for the effort so.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, young ladies. What is it?” she asked her eyes going from face to face.

“Nothing.” squeaked Sansa.

Well, she had some progress to make if she want to lie properly…

Also, Robb wasn’t sure a Sansa with a good ability at lying was a good idea...

“We’ll talk about this another time” cut Lord Stark, his voice calm and firm. “We are here for a reason.”

Lady Catelyn didn’t respond, however, everything in her face talked for her. She didn’t like it and still had not dropped the subject. Robb hoped she’ll end up forgetting about it. There was little luck for this to happen, but he could still hope. Mother was stubborn.

“We received this morning a message from Moat Callin. The King passed them last week.”

All Stark children exchanged a glance. Robb noticed Kyria’s expression, her eyes bright fixed on Frost’s head. He regrets not being next to her if only to ask what was happening in this mind of hers. She looked strange every time the King or the court was mentioned. Robb wanted to know why.

He didn’t like being left out of the loop. It was his noisy side.

Not for the first time, Robb wondered thought of how alone she must feel with her visions. As supportive as he tried to be, he still couldn’t see what she saw.

“What does it mean?” asked Bran to their father.

“It means the King will be here in one week. And as so, we have to prepare for it.” responded lady Catelyn, her eyes back on the six Direwolves all lying down on the floor.

Robb felt a pang of apprehension growing inside him. This was it. The last times they had to share before the most enormous change their lives ever met.

Again, he looked at his sister. This time he found her gaze already on him. She smiled at him. Maybe she was trying to reassure him. It didn’t work. He wasn’t reassured one bit. Her smile was tense. There was a hardness in her eyes that felt wrong to him. A tension in her shoulder that didn’t sit well with his own apprehension.

He was anxious. Why did things have to change?

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The week passed quickly. Even more so as he absolutely didn’t want it to pass. If it had been up to his lone will, this week would have never ended. Or even better, he would have been able to travel back to the time when there was no King arriving. When Jon was still with them and Kyria was still cheerful and innocent. Before she fell from that tree.

But of course, like it was always the case when one didn’t want a situation to come, the time took great pleasure to go as quickly as it could.

The evening before the infamous Day, Robb made a decision. He went out of his room, all clean shaved and well prepared for the King -or the Queen according to Theon...- and knock to his sister’s door. It was late and he was almost certain that Kyria was asleep, but he needed to talk to her. He needed… he wasn’t even sure what but he needed to talk to Kyria. A childish part of him

“Yes?”

Inside the room, Frost was displayed in front of the fire, lazily enjoying the heat of the flames. He was softly snorting, his big head in his equally big paws. Surprisingly, he wasn’t alone, as Summer had his giant head on his brother’s back, looking as asleep as he could without really sleeping. His soft eyes blinked lazily at Robb’s sight. He snorted, yawned and moved his head in a more comfortable position against the warm fur of his brother. Frost’s tail moved slowly.

Robb bites back a laugh. He couldn’t say why but there was always something funny with those giant puppies. He didn’t get how those giant killers could be so adorably comfy and homely. Like giant lapdogs.

On the bed, Kyria held a distressed-looking Bran, who keep grabbing her nightshirt with his little fist.

The sight of his little brother distress erases Robb's worries as easily as snapping fingers.

“Bran?” he asked.

The boy looked at him tears on the verge of his eyes.

“I had a nightmare...”

“What happened? ” observed the oldest Stark.

Kyria patted the boy's head without a word. Something in her eyes didn’t ease Robb.

“I dreamed of a big raven. With three eyes. He was scary.”

Kyria’s hand stopped. For an instant, she looked truly distressed. Robb bites his lip and contains his reaction. This wasn’t reassuring at all… And reminded him a bit much of someone else’s nightmares. As Robb was panicking internally, Kyria resumed her petting on Bran’s head and pull further the furs around the boy.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” she asked with a gentle voice.

Bran nodded without voicing it, a stubborn line on his mouth. He didn’t want to admit out loud his weakness. Proud little boy thought Robb fondly.

“What do you think about the King? What will happen when he’ll be there?” asked the boy, already half-buried in the fur of his sister’s bed.

“I don’t know” lie Kyria, her eyes on Robb. “But I know one thing.”

Her eyes lost in the wall, absent. She’s still petting her brother’s hair, almost mechanically. Then she looked at Bran again, her face blank.

“I’d rather have you walk like a wolf than fly like a bird little brother. Try to remember that, when you dream about crows, will you?”

Bran nodded, looking lost and confused. Robb felt quite the same. Maybe he should go back to his room. Bran didn’t look ready to leave, and he wasn’t sure that Kyria wanted to talk about her abilities with the boy so close to them.

“Did you want something brother?” she asked, finally looking at him.

Robb hesitated for a minute, then finally smiled letting go. He could still talk to her later. At least he hoped so.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll let you rest.”

“All right then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Kyria.”

Robb went back to bed, his head filled with thought. Feeling suddenly incredibly stupid for this oh so useful trip, he took his sweet time to fell asleep. As he finally let go of his troubled mind, he had a last thought for Jon, the lucky bastard who didn’t have to deal with all of this shit.

It may be the first time Robb envied his brother’s statue. Being a bastard sounded less complicated… And he didn’t have to deal with Kings and court. In Robb’s humble opinion, it was worth freezing his ass to the Wall for the rest of his life.

At least a little.

Lucky Jon.

**OoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Kyria**

This was it. The D. day. Draped in a dark blue dress, one of the fancier she owned, Kyria was posted between a proper Robb and a pretty Sansa in the courtyard surrounded by her family and the entire House Stark, guard and servant included, she finally was going to face the court for the first time. And the King.

Her heart keeps beating faster and faster in her chest. Robb next to her was a welcomed comfort, but even he with all his older brother glory couldn’t stop her hand from shaking.

“Where is Arya? Kyria? Where is your sister?” asked lady Catelyn while the rumbling of the horses could be heard from behind the walls of Winterfell.

The question snapped Kyria out of her thought. She looked at her mother, then her sister. There was indeed a little dark head missing. She and Sansa exchanged a perplexed glance.

“I don’t know,” she responded, looking back at her mother.

Lady Catelyn frowned and looked again around them. Her eyes crossed those of her husband, who didn’t look worried by his youngest daughter's disappearance.

Mother found her answer several minutes later when Arya came out of nowhere, an ironed helmet on her head. Kyria repressed a laughed at the disappoint frown her sister shown, as Father took the helmet from her head, and pass it to Ser Rodrik. Only Mother didn’t seem amused by her sister’s antic.

“Move!” snapped Arya to her younger brother, as she took her place between him and Sansa.

“Be kind.” whispered back Sansa.

Kyria smiled. Arya humphed, but didn’t respond. She didn’t have the time anyway, already the first royal guards was making his way to the yard.

The vision of the first guard, all golden armor and white cloak stopped Kyria’s heart for a second. This was it. A curious mix of impatience and apprehension, spread through her chest.

Kyria looked at the Kingsguards, at the imposing figure of the Hound, the giant men hidden in heavy metal plates, his helmet the face of a dog. Then in front of him, Kyria found the gaze of the crown Prince. Joffrey Baratheon.

Seeing him moved something inside her chest. He was beautiful. She couldn’t deny it. His hair, as blond as the sun, his eyes piercing green. A beautiful boy with something glinting in his eyes that caught Kyria’s attention more efficiently than any trait of his face. There was something here. Kyria almost frowned.

Then, as she was thinking confusingly about this strange feeling moving inside her chest like a snake, the crown prince looked at her. Kyria almost stepped back. Yes, there was something in this gaze. Something almost frightening. Kyria gulped without really realizing it. _Don’t look at me she thought, please don’t look at me._ She kept thinking as hard as she could. Somehow, he heard her. He looked past her, to her right. Dismissing her presence. She almost sighed in relief. Thanks the gods.

Next to her, Robb’s head turned harshly. A hot wave of anger pulsed out of him. Kyria blinked and looked at him. His eyes were hard and unhappy. She followed her gaze and found at its end Sansa’s dreamy eyes. The girl kept blinking prettily, batting her eyelashes more efficiently than any word on the state of Sansa’s mind, or heart.

Oh boy...

Sansa. Kyria almost closed her eyes. She felt Robb move again next to her, but what could he have done? He saw her, and she saw him. Kyria knew Sansa enough to guess she’ll find him appealing. He was golden, from the south, and pretty. Like a vision directly found out of her songs. It was a lost cause the moment Father told them about the King visit. Still, she had hoped…

She couldn’t even put her finger on what bothered her that much. Everything was troubled in her mind. If she could control herself, she would have been relieved to feel all of this confusion. Her visions were bright behind her eyes, images of dreams she had for years. She couldn’t have asked for better proof. She saw this pretty face before. Saw it without seeing.

Joffrey Baratheon had been in her dreams, she could have sworn it. She didn’t know which one of her vision had him in it, but she knew this feeling. She had seen this figure before.

But she didn’t control her mind. Everything was troubled and confused inside her. And a fear she didn’t know she possessed was grabbing her guts like the claws of a beast, silent and perfidious. Kyria suddenly regretted her previous eagerness at the idea of this visit. She had been so impatient at the idea of proof, of a living representation of all those dreams. Of an occasion to change this.

But now, as she was confusingly thinking of all these things, as the outrageous wheelhouse was making its way to the courtyard, Kyria regretted her wishes. She started to share Robb’s fear of change. She didn’t want it.

_Go away_ she thought suddenly, _go away go away go away._

_**Go away!** _

But they didn’t, of course. The wheelhouse was big and full of royal blood. The Queen Mother and her two other children. Then, right behind it, another Kingsguard, quickly followed by the reason behind all this turmoil. The King.

Robert Baratheon, first of his name.

As fat as a man can be, while still able to mount a horse. His hair and beard were as dark as the mane of his horse, a massive beast impressive and without a doubt strong enough to support a King as… voluminous as he was. His eyes might be blue, but it was difficult to see from where she was, as his face looked all puff up, his eyes small on the red flesh. Was it by fat or by wine, Kyria didn’t know, but she could say for sure, this face wasn’t the face of the man her father talked about when he spoke of his friend. At least not the one of the Rebellion.

As she looked at this face, Kyria didn’t feel fear. She felt pity. Pity for this man clearly unhappy in his role as King of the Seven Kingdoms. There wasn’t many reasons to change a man, as handsome and strong and glorious as Robert Baratheon used to be, according to Father’s tales, to this fat shadow, puffed by his own bitterness, in addition to wine.

That said, Kyria didn’t have the luxury of observing him that much while he came to the courtyard. As the protocol ordered, every member of the Stark household kneel in front of their King, eyes on the floor. They couldn’t look directly as the King until he said so. As so, Kyria soon faced the floor, While the king walked to them. For a couple of minutes, no one talked. Kyria shared a look with Robb, who was already looking at her. He looked as nervous as she was.

Soon, Father stood again, and with him, the rest of them.

“Your Grace.” greet the Lord.

“You got Fat.” responded the King.

There was a second of silence, then both men laughed, happily embracing the other with the complicity of brothers. Then the king starts to greet all of them. Mother first, to whom he gave a hug. Mother looked as embarrassed as the King was at ease. Robb snorted next to her.

The King didn’t seem to care about the lady’s obvious unease and rub Rickon’s mop of hair, to the delight of the boy who giggles happily.

Then he turned his attention to Robb, next to Father.

“You, boy must be Robb.”

“Your Grace.” bowed Robb.

“What a good lad!” boomed the King, delighted.

Soon his attention was on her. Kyria bowed too like she learned to do. She straightened and looked at him in the eyes.

_Dragonspawn!_

_The fat man lay in a large bed, his breath harsh and difficult, his eyes gazing away._

“ _I hope, for my last instants, to be a better father then I have been a king. I’ve made a lot of mistakes Ned...”_

_A horse, a laugh, a drink._

_A choc._

“ _The King is dead.”_

Kyria blinked, as she saw the King again. She felt a tug on her cape and didn’t have to look to know who it was. Did someone else notice something?

She looked at the King again. He didn’t seem to have noticed anything. He was looking at her intensely, his eyes searching in her trait. Then his face broke in a wide smile that made his eyes almost disappear behind his fat cheeks.

“And what have we here? Twins?”

Kyria felt the blush on her cheek and denied it in a small voice. She didn’t say anything else, her mother was already speaking.

“This is Kyria, your Grace,” said Catelyn behind them. “Our oldest daughter. She is younger than Robb for about two years.”

“Not twins then?”

“No your grace, but they do look a lot alike.”

“I can see that. Interesting. Well, you’re pretty enough I suppose.”

“Thank you,” she responded, not knowing what else to say at that.

The King laugh, looked at her one last time, then passed to Sansa. He complimented her on her beauty with a loud voice that made Kyria wince, then asked for Arya’s name. The look on his face was strange. Once he passed Bran and complimented his muscles, he asked Father to go to the Crypt and pay his respect.

“We’ve been traveling for months, my love. Surely the dead can wait.” said a voice to her left.

Immediately, Kyria’s hand grabbed Robb’s. Her mind blanked for a second, then thousand of images overflown her mind.

_Cersei Cersei Cersei_

_Cersei Lannister_

_Lannister… The Queen Mother. Mad. Madmad Mad. Mad Mad Mad Mad Lioness_

_Everyone who isn’t us it the enemy._

_When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle grown._

_Kill him. No! Oh, I changed my mind._

_Perfect aren’t you? Little dove._

_Dove dove dove dove dove dove_

_Little Dove._

_Power. Power power power power power POWER!_

_Power is Power._

_No mercy. That’s why they are gods._

_You’re perfect Little dove_

_Love your children. For this, a mother has no choice._

_My children. Mine. Mine. Mine. MINE._

_Your best weapon is between your legs._

_You never love anything like you love your first child._

_Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine._

_Should I wear the armor?_

_MINE._

Kyria had to blink several time to completely chase away the visions. Robb’s grip was strong in her hand, strong enough to anchor her to the ground, and the present time. She took a discrete breath and looked back at the Queen. Thankfully she didn’t seem to have noticed her discomfort and was discussing with their Mother.

“Is everything alright Kyria?” whispered Sansa to her right.

“Yes, Sansa don’t worry.”

“Are you sure? You look pale...”

“Yes, I’m alright. I- I didn’t eat this morning that is all,” said Kyria without looking at her.

She didn’t dare stop on what just happened. She could only be sure that the Queen was in her visions. And from what she just experienced, she was important.

Kyria looked at the Queen again. There was something in her eyes. Something fierce that sends cold chills on Kyria’s back. She reminded her of a lioness in her den. Ready to attack at the first menace.

“Where is the imp?” asked Arya, looking around with eagerness.

“Arya, not that loud,” whispered Sansa.

But it was too late. Already the Queen was walking away, toward a tall figure, draped in a white cloak and golden armor. Kyria blinked again.

_The things I do for love._

_I swore a vow. I intend to keep that vow._

_The same thing he was saying for hours._

_Burn them all._

_Keep that vow for me, will you?_

_All my life I only loved one woman. All my life._

_Do it._

_I don’t believe you._

_She’s a monster. And so am I._

_Do it._

_Honour. Am I?_

_Am I?_

Jaime Lannister.

Kyria blinked again. She didn’t dare think about these images either. She needed to be alone to understand that. Looking at the Queen going to her brother moved something on the back of Kyria’s mind. She blinked it away again. She didn’t want to see that.

“Where is our brother? Find the little beast.” the Queen ordered her voice cold and sharp.

Like a knife in the flesh.

Ser Jaime nodded and climb back on his horse without a word, a smile on his face.

The Queen came back to their Mother, just as lady Catelyn was letting them go from their position. Rickon didn’t wait to run to Sansa and babble excitingly about the King's hand in his hair.

Kyria smiled for a second, then looked at Robb.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I- I’ll explain it to you later. It’s… I don’t know, it’s a lot to take.”

Robb nod and grabbed her hand again. She offered him a small smile.

“We will take you to your chambers, your grace. I assume, with a journey so long, you must need your rest.” said the lady of the keep, a polite smile on her face.

Before anyone could say anything else, a great noise burst from the back of the yard. The kennels.

“What is it?” asked archly the prince, behind his mother.

“Ser Rodrik” called Lady Catelyn.

The tall men nodded and went to see what was happening. Kyria frowned.

“The wolves,” said Robb next to her.

“Oh damn...” she said under her breath.

Oh, that couldn’t end well...

As they guessed, the wolves came in the yard, the all pack of giant beast, slow and majestic. Their similar golden eyes were shining against the grey of the Keep. They were gorgeous.

“What is this?!” asked the Queen, her voice more pressing.

“Is that Direwolves?” questioned another voice behind her.

A lean man came to their view, wearing heavy fur around his covered neck, and precious silk under it. He had a curious little bird made of silver to secure the said cape around him. His face was long, made longer by the little beard on his chin. Two small blue eyes were carefully looking at everywhere around him. Calculating small blue eyes.

_Trust me. Trust me._

_I know you want it._

_Trust me. Trust me._

_Make a mistake. You’ll do it. I can wait. Always waiting. Waiting._

_Sometimes when I try to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst._

_The worst. The worst. How could it be worse? How can I play with the worst?_

_Trust me. I want you to trust me. Let me stab you in the back._

Kyria blinked again multiple times, chasing away other visions, this time with exasperation. When would this masquerade stop?! Already she could feel the pain build itself behind her eyes. This was way more difficult than anything she ever experienced in her life. Her brows frowned, she observed the man. His gaze was drinking the line of Kyria’s mother like a dying man looking for water.

“Petyr!” said Catelyn happily.

_Baelish_ a part of her brain snared.

“Lady Catelyn,” he responded bowing with a smile on his fine lips.

“Frost. To me,” whispered Kyria without looking away from the court. From the man.

Her sibling did the same, each one calling for his wolf. Like the piece of a tale, the direwolves came to their masters. One after the other. As if they wanted to give their guests the time to contemplate their magnificence. Or realize the danger they could be in if they dare cross them.

But, as Frost made his way to his mistress’s, she thought that maybe it was the wolves that wanted to analyze those new peoples.

First came her Frost, of course. Tall and imposing, calm and proud, his legs as white as Ghost’s fur and his back almost as dark as Shaggy’s. Then, right under his shadow, came Lady. The smallest of them all, her fur light, almost like silver, and yellow eyes soft and warm like honey. Then, Shaggydog jumped to his little master, hiding him entirely with his imposing black figure. He showed his teeth for a minute, to a Lannister soldier, too close for his liking apparently. Then, Nymeria, also taller than her mistress, her head low, as if ready to run. She was large, almost as large as Greywind. Summer behind her, silent in his light brown was almost missed. As quiet and calm than his master.

Greywing came last, majestic. The biggest of them all. Almost taller than Robb when his head was up. Massive. Kyria was sure of it, if Robb wanted it, he could have mounted the wolf like a horse.

And what a vision it must be.

“Would you care to explain what those beast are for?” asked the Queen, her voice tense.

She didn’t like the wolves. Was she afraid? Kyria wondered if she was.

_She should be._

“Those wolves are my children’s… companions” explained Catelyn unsure. “They have them since the things are nothing but pups.”

“How so?” asked Baelish, “I thought the Direwolves were only seen behind the wall.”

“Not all of them,” responded Robb petting proudly Greywind massive back.

“As I see...” responded pensively the master of coin.

“What is this?” asked suddenly the loud voice of the king.

The sudden sound scared Shaggy, who barked loudly in response, teeth bared, menacing.

“Shaggy.” reprimanded Robb, echoing his own wolf low growl.

The massive black beast lowered a little, his ears against his skull and his tail between his legs. He didn’t dare look Robb in the eyes. Kyria smiled.

They trained them well apparently.

Father behind the King didn’t seem to notice the scene. He looked disturbed. Kyria frown, noticing his running gaze that keeps jumping between her and Sansa.

She didn’t like what she was guessing. Her own eyes went to Joffrey. The boy was still looking at the wolves, an ugly frown on his lips.

_Worm lips._

“My children’s pet.” responded Father, looking at his friend. “they weren’t supposed to be here.”

“They wanted to greet our guest Father,” said Kyria, using the sweetest voice she could get.

She was clever enough not to draw much attention to herself. Let them underestimate the little northern girl.

It seemed like it was enough to make laugh the king.

“What a strange country is this place!” he boomed.

He made some of his men laugh, and his son sneers like a cat. The conversation was over.

The handmaiden guides the court to their chambers and Lady Catelyn starts an animated conversation with Petyr Baelish. Kyria kept her gaze away from the man. She noticed the little Myrcella Baratheon looking curiously at the wolves.

The girl looked remarkably like her mother, just like Sansa looked like Lady Catelyn. But she was young and seemed as innocent and sweet as one can be. But Kyria wasn’t sure it reflected her character. After all, her mother was just as beautiful. But from what she gets through the few words she granted them, Kyria didn’t have many hopes.

Soon, the court was retired in their respective rooms and Kyria found her brother in the library, looking as worried as before.

“What happened earlier?”

“I had visions. Like, in plural,” she said quickly, walking back and forth around the table.

“What? Why? What- What triggers them? Is there even something able to trigger them?”

“I’m not sure… I think it does. Each time I had one of them while awake… there was the person concerned next to me, or I was looking at something related to the vision so… maybe...”

“Who was it?”

“The Queen, Ser Jaime, and Baelish,” she answered.

Robb frowned and asked what she saw. She explained it to the best of her abilities. Like always it was harder to explain than it was to experience them. Oh, how many times she wished to be able to bring her brothers inside her head.

But then, there were even more times when she was grateful she couldn’t do so such a thing. As lonely as she felt sometimes, no one deserved to see things like that.

Robb stayed silent for a moment after that. Then he brought back her lists of what she saw in her vision, and start looking at it with the abandon of a man on a mission.

“Look, there,” he said after a time.

She sat next to him and looked. It was a line from one of her dream’s description.

“The things we do for love?”

“Yes, you said you… saw that didn’t you? Today I mean.”

“I did, with Jaime Lannister.” suddenly she get it. “ Do you think I dreamed about him before?”

“Well, from what I get it sounds like it.”

They keep looking for about an hour, and, to her surprise, found other similarities. In the end, they determinate that Kyria had at least dreamed of Jaime Lannister and Petyr Baelish. As for the why, they still had no idea. But Kyria couldn’t have been more relieved.

As Robb closed the heavy leather holder in where they had put everything even slightly related to her visions, Kyria felt a tear roll on her cheek.

Robb noticed it immediately, of course.

“Kyria?” he asked. “Why are you crying? Is everything alright?”

“I just-” she took a breath, hoping for her tears to stop falling. They didn’t. “I thought I was losing my mind. For so long. It was- I’ve wanted some proof you know. Anything, to show me I wasn’t insane.” she tried to explain.

Robb hushed her and held a tissue in front of her face, awkwardly looking away. He didn’t like to see people cry. She took it and quickly wipe away the moist on her eyes. Gods, if her mother ever found her eyes red, Kyria won’t hear the end of it. She couldn’t be seen with puffy eyes the night of the King’s feast. She was a Stark daughter she didn’t get to cry in front of royalty.

“Are you going to be alright tonight?”

“I’m not that weak, thank you, brother.”

“No, but I don’t want you to fall on your ass in front of the King.”

She lightly slaps his arm, frowning her nose at his face. He flipped it with his finger and exit the room, his strong voice rumbling recommendation she took great care of ignoring.

Once alone she looked back at the place where they hide their holder. She wasn’t insane. She truly was seeing things. True things.

How the knowledge of her own sanity could feel that worrisome?

Well, she shouldn’t be so sure about sanity. She was dreaming of a river of blood after all. And often singing or humming the same song over again.

Wasn’t it a sign of madness?

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you think? Good? Bad? Awfull?  
> Tell me, tell me!
> 
> I wanted to thank you all for reading my stuff and leaving kudos and commenting, I really appreciate that. I'm happy to know that some people actually are interested in what I do tell. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked it, and I see you next time!  
> Don't forget to share your opinion!


	8. Chapter 8: The things you can't prevent.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gods have gifted Kyria with a way to know what is about to happen.  
> Now is the time for her to use them.
> 
> But she had to choose wisely, the event she want to act on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!  
> I don't have much to say, I don't want to spoil anything, but let's say I'm making the first big change in the original story. And well...  
> I'm sorry... :/
> 
> Please don't hate me!

**Year 298 after the Conquest.**

**Winterfell.**

**Kyria**

During the evening that followed the King’s arrival, a feast was to take place, in honor of their sovereign, and it visits. Kyria didn’t like the idea of spending an entire evening in the same room as those people who seemed to wake way too many visions for her comfort. But she didn’t have any choice in the matter… It was her role, to represent her family at the feast, just like it was the role of her siblings to do the same.

So, as Mother was taking care of a particularly excited Sansa, Kyria took upon herself to dress up her other little sister. Which left one important question. Why in the entire sever hells did she propose to do such a thing? Dressing Arya!

Arya who moved more than a fish out of the river. Arya who despised dressing up with more ire than almost anything else in the entire world! Why did she put herself in such a painful experience?

Why?

“I don’t want to wear this pretty dress.” groaned Arya, putting her head out of her sister’s hand with exasperation.

Kyria bites back a moan. She ruined her hair. Again. She was going to tie her to this fucking chair she swore it. She was doing it.

“And why not?” she asked with patience she didn’t feel.

“It’s not easy to run with it. And the sleeve is way too long.” pouted the child.

She moved her arms to demonstrate the insult this horrible piece of fabric was doing to her freedom. The movement untied another lock from her head. Kyria rolled her eyes.

“And when would you want to run? We are going to a feast in honor of the King, we won’t run!”

“You never know when you need to run!” protested Arya.

…

Well, she wasn’t wrong. But still…

“You’ll have the entire household to protect you if someone attack, Arya. I’m sure some of them will agree to carry you as well.” smiled Kyria.

She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know the girl was grimacing.

“I don’t want to be protected. That’s for ladies.”

Of course, silly her.

“I’m afraid you won’t have a choice in the matter sister. Not tonight at least.”

“Why?” she protested.

“Because,” sighed Kyria pulling the little head back where she was supposed to be. What was that, a person or a puppy? Why did she need to move that much all the time? Was it that difficult to sit still? Really? “ The King is here, with some members of the court and the Royal family. And as so, we need to make a good impression.”

“Why?”

“Because Mother said so.” shrugged Kyria.

“But Why?” moaned the girl.

Now that was starting to get old pretty quickly.

“That’s the way of the noble families. In the South, everything is about appearance. If you look like a noble, you speak like a noble and you act like a noble then you must be one. And they’ll respect you.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, you also have to wear the name of a noble. But either way… yes just like that. No matter how strong you are Arya, if they don’t saw you as a noble girl, you are nothing.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I agree. But it is how the world is made.”

The girls stayed silent for some time. Enough for Kyria to end Arya’s hair - fi-fuckin-nally- , and start with her own, with the help of Maerys, her devoted silent shadow.

“How do you know all of this?”

“I read a lot,” she responded working on bread.

“About that?”

“About everything I can find.”

A loud knock stopped Arya from saying anything else. Robb passed his head in the opening of the door.

“Are you ready?”

“Almost,” responded Kyria.

Just then, Maerys let go of her hair and nodded with a bow.

“We are.”

The three of them went out of the room and joined the rest of their family. They entered the great hall, one after the other. Her own arm wrapped around Robb’s, she tried to ignore the presence of Joffrey behind her, right next to Sansa. The girl looked positively thrilled to be where she was. The prick looked bored to tears and snorted to anyone who dared look at his general direction. Stupid boy.

Kyria bites her tongue. She couldn’t say anything. This was no business of her. Beside Sansa wouldn’t have forgiven her.

Arya didn’t seem so pleased, from what Kyria could see. She was lead to her place on the main table by the young Tommen, the poor boy looked furiously red and uncomfortable. Bran puffed his chest, proudly, his arm locked with Myrcella’s. They were cute together. Like a couple of dolls, all pretty and chubby-faced, with those big innocent eyes of theirs.

Rickon wasn’t present, still too young to stay in one of those feasts and was staying in his room with Old Nan and Septa Mordane. The only good point of the evening this far.

“Aren’t you glad to be stuck with me sister?” whispered Robb to her ear. “You could have had the prickly little prince.”

“I am glad Robb. I would be even more if he wasn’t that close to Sansa.”

“The girl looked over the moon.”

“Of course she is. For her, it is like a dream coming true. Look at her, how she dressed up. They aren’t there for more than a day and our sister looks already like those southern girls.”

“What did you expect?”

“Nothing. I knew she’d act like that.”

Robb looked at her, something dancing in his eyes.

“You… knew?”

Kyria sighed and restrained herself to roll her eyes.

“Not my visions Robb. I happen to know my sister.”

“Oh. Yes of course,” he said awkwardly.

The tip of his ears was red with embarrassment.

She smiled, amused.

“You know, I can think outside the prism of my oh so divine gift.”

“I know I know but- I guess I’ll always have a hard time to get used to the idea. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I understand,” she said.

She was the same after all.

They stay silent just enough for Kyria to sit on her table, her hand still in her brother’s. The room was fuller than anything Kyria ever saw. It was impressive, and kind of intimidating.

“Are you alright?” asked Robb as she watched Arya take her place.

She nodded without a word.

The discussion ended here. Both of them knew they couldn’t keep talking about that here, so close to everyone else and potential undesired ears. Robb pressed her hand one last time, then let go of it.

Kyria’s eyes derived on Petyr Baelish. He was at the main table like the rest of the important guests, which were the King and Queen and the Queen’s Brothers. The heirs of the respective men sat here too, and Kyria smiled at her brother, as he took his place.

The rest of the children were placed on a table close to the main one, all of Kyria’s siblings and the two other royal children. This was a good thing. At least none of her siblings were close enough to Baelish. She didn’t like the man. There was something wrong with the way he was looking at her mother.

“Are you alright Kyria?” asked Sansa in a concerned voice next to her.

Kyria blinked and smile at her.

“Yes, Sansa. And you? How do you find the prince?”

She didn’t want to hear that, but still, it was needed.

The smile on Sansa’s face could have ripped it in half.

“Oh, he is wonderful. And so handsome don’t you think?”

“I… he is not my type sister. Did you talk to him?”

Sansa blushed.

“I showed him the keep, the sept, and the glass gardens,” she said. “It was so romantic! He seemed nice and gallant, and, oh he keep asking me questions about everything and-” she sighed dreamily.

From the corner of her eyes, Kyria noticed the little princess looking at them. Her face was surprisingly hard to read. She was paying great attention to what they were saying but, nothing on her face could sell her thought. When Sansa ended her description of the Prince’s perfection, Kyria smiled at the little girl.

“Pardon my sister princess Myrcella, she is very enthusiastic with your presence.”

The girl smiled. She was very pretty. Next to her, her little brother grunted.

“Joffrey is mean,” he mumbled.

Kyria’s attention was suddenly as sharp as a knife.

“Tommen doesn’t say things like that!” said the princess.

“Why would you say that my prince? Your brother seems to be very nice to my sister.”

“He killed my cat and her kitties,” he said, his big green eyes full of tears.

Oh, gods… what did that mean?

“What do you mean?” asked Bran next to the boy.

“Oh it’s nothing,” said the princess with a quick look at the main table where her brother was.

She looked worried. Kyria quickly looked at the same direction and found the boy’s gaze on them. This wasn’t a good time for a discussion like that. But whatever the little boy means, it was important.

Instead of insisting like she would like to do, she smiled at the children and took the princess’s hand.

“If you do not want to talk about it, you only have to say it.” she said nicely. “we are not noisy, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable on your first day here.”

The little girl smiled at her and looked at Sansa. Something flashed in her eyes, but Kyria didn’t have time to put a name on it.

The silence was made in the room, as Father stood up, gaining everyone’s attention.

“We are here tonight,” he started with a strong voice, “to welcome among us our King, Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andal the Roynars and the First Men, Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Oh get on with it Ned!” groaned the King’s voice.

Some of the men laughed in the assembly. Kyria looked at Robb. Good gods what a King they had.

Father merely looked at his friend, before talking again.

He said something else, but Kyria didn’t listen. The feast started after that, and soon the room was full of chaos.

Kyria concentrates her attention on the Royal children.

“So, Prince Tommen, you like animals?” she asked as she took a bite of her food.

The boy's face lightened up.

“I love cats!” he pipped. “ I have so many of them at home! As much as I can!”

“How many do you have?” asked Arya with curiosity.

The boy thought for a second. Kyria smiled at her little sister. She didn’t think the girl would have bother to talk to any of the royal children. Seeing do that was pleasing. She was making an effort here. She looked at Sansa. The girl didn’t seem to want to talk but didn’t ignore them either. Her eyes keep going back to the main table, full of stars. It was almost painful to watch.

“I don’t know… there is a lot of cats in the Red keep.” Tommen said, bringing back Kyria’s attention. “My nanny said it’s because of the rats!”

“There are rats at the Red keep?” asked Sansa, her pretty nose frowned.

“There are half a million of people at Kingslanding Sansa, there must be some rats,” responded Kyria before anyone else could.

“Oh… that’s true… I suppose.” she responded slowly, her mind processing the number of people in one single town.

It was a lot after all.

“Is there really that many people at Kingslanding?” asked Bran.

Myrcella nodded timidly.

“I think so,” she said. “That’s what Septa say when we talk about the city.”

“That’s a lot of people...” observed Sansa.

Kyria repressed a snort.

“That it is.” she nodded with a smile.

Sansa frowned at her.

“Do not mock me!”

“Well you’re gifted to point the evidence sister, what can I say?” she giggled.

Sansa seemed upset, for maybe one second, then she smiled too, seeing her previous comment for what it was. Arya giggled too, greatly amused by her sister’s silliness.

The ice broken, they spend a good hour talking together, while eating their food. The two blond children were very sweet, to Kyria’s delight. At least two members of the royal family were of good company. That was a start.

As the feast continued, the attributed place didn’t stay like that for long. Soon, everyone was going everywhere they wanted. The King has deserted his place early in the night, and Father was also nowhere to be seen. The Queen and Mother were talking with Baelish, and Robb went for Theon a while ago already.

The feast was long. Longer than anything Kyria even experienced, including Robb’s last name day. It was long and full of sight she’d rather have never witnessed. The King was flirting more vigorously with the maids, patting behind and eyeing blossom with the subtlety of a bear charging his prey. He laughed loudly and made crude comments about one breast or one ass. It was embarrassing for everyone looking. Or it should be, at least, in her opinion.

He wasn’t the only one, of course, but he was the loudest. And the more visible of course.

Kyria held back a wince, as Robert laughed loudly again, his hand crudely massaging another maid’s bottom. It was the third one at least. He was disgusting. She could almost feel pity for the Queen, forced to assist her husband’s dishonorable behavior.

After a time, some people started to stand out of their table to talk to other people. Laugh and cheers resonate around her. At some point, Kyria found herself alone at her table, observing people around her enjoying the evening and the royal company.

A laugh louder than the other gathered Kyria’s attention back to the King. This time she did wince. He had one girl on his lap, another one again, almost undressed while another was draped around his neck like some piece of fur. From the angle of the King’s face, he was kissing her breast. Or was he eating her? She couldn’t be sure.

Drooling at her maybe?

Yuck.

Deciding to ignore the ruler’s comportment, she looked at the member of her family she could see. Robb and Theon were in what seemed to be like a heated conversation. About girls apparently, if she could trust Theon’s luscious gaze trailed a bit too long on one maid’s backside. He said something Kyria couldn’t hear, too far away as she was, and Robb laughed loudly. The heir of Winterfell clapped his friend’s back and pointed something in the crowd. Kyria didn’t want to know what it was. The images of this infamous afternoon were still a bit to close to her memories.

Again, Yuck.

Sansa and Jeyne Poole next to her were completely bewitched by whatever the blonde Prince was telling them. The boy made great gestures around them, a smug look on his annoying face. For one second Kyria would have wanted to know what this was about. Just to laugh a little. Maybe she could talk with Sansa… Something was bothering with the Prince. She didn’t like his eyes. Or his face in general. She almost felt ashamed to judge like that without knowing, something she forbade herself to do, but right now she couldn’t help it. The crown prince was rubbing something the wrong way inside Kyria.

And seeing him swagger like a proud peacock around her naive little sister didn’t help ease her worries. She had hoped, quite naively herself that their time together, her, Sansa, and Arya had somehow healed a little her sister’s fascination with the bright south, opposed to their Northern dullness and lack of activities. But seeing her dressed as a little southern girl, and giggle prettily at the Prince reminded her that dip down, Sansa still had the same dreams.

If only she could have them about someone else…

Her gaze fell on Arya then, as the girl was looking with a rare intensity at Sansa, and more importantly, Jeyne Poole. Since that day during the sewing lesson, the little girl had developed a peculiar resentment against the young brown-haired girl. And observing her ignoring Sansa for several days because she dared defend her little sister didn’t help. Kyria wasn’t fond of the girl either, but she could recognize that she didn’t mean any harm. She was more empty-headed than anything else. Nothing a few years can’t heal Kyria thought.

Gods she felt so old sometimes...Like those endless nights had aged her up earlier than others.

Anyway, the look on Arya’s face didn’t seem good. Maybe she could do something before Arya decided to act on what felt like a very, _very_ bad idea.

With a smile, the girl went for her sister.

“Whatever you are thinking of doing do not,” she said to the girl’s ear.

“What?” spluttered the little thing, dropping her spoon. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you look suspiciously like you are scheming something. And you look at Jeyne. So whatever you are thinking in this little head of yours do not act on it.” Arya frowned, clearly unhappy. “I’m right, aren’t I? What do you even plan to do?”

“N-nothing.”

“Arya...”

The girl sighed.

“She’s so… annoying. I mean look at them! Listening to this- prince like he knew everything! How can’t they see through his lies?”

“How do you know he is lying?” responded Kyria.

She was almost sure he was, of course. But she wasn’t against an opportunity to make her little sister think further than what was just under her nose. Looking underneath the appearances. And to put some words in her thoughts wouldn’t hurt either.

“Of course he is! Look at him! So slim he could fly if the wind is too strong! How a frail thing like him could have killed a boar as big as a horse and bring him back from the Woods to the Red Keep all by himself?”

...True.

Very true. Well, he seemed to have ambition.

“You are right, he looks quite… slight. But maybe it is only a look. You know strength isn’t always visible within the eye. Maybe he did bring the thing to the keep.”

“Mh…” she didn’t look convinced. Kyria wasn’t too. But the point here wasn’t to convince Arya of Joffrey’s potential strength.

“Beside, his sworn shield could have brought the thing to the Castle. Joffrey could still have killed it.”

This did make sense. A bit. Even if Kyria could swear the prick never went to a single hunting trip. But even she couldn’t be certain. She didn’t know everything, despise what she found herself believing more often than not. Briefly, her thought went back to the holder safely hidden in the library.

“Maybe...” said the girl.

Kyria looked again at the boy prince and his little court. The dreamy sight of Sansa woke an ill feeling inside her.

“We don’t know the prince enough to be able to judge him Arya,” she said again.

Only she wasn’t sure if it was her sister or herself she was trying to convince.

Not long after this, Arya ended her meal and with a nod from her mother, Kyria put her to bed, ignoring the girl’s protestations. She could do as she pleased once in her room, but Kyria knew her enough to notice when she started to be dangerously bored. Because a bored Arya could be dangerous for her mother’s vision of conveniences.

Instead of going back to the Hall, where she could hear the party way louder than what it has been when she quit it, Kyria decided to go outside for a bit. She felt restless. Something inside her, a fire she never experienced before was burning in a need to be satiated. Spend maybe. Without really thinking about it, she took the first bow she could find and started to shoot.

She keeps shooting, again and again, as if each arrow was a thought and as it left her hand, the thought left her with it. She thought of Sansa and the Prince, and shoot. She thought of Father and the question the King must already have asked him and shoot. She thought of the South and the member of her family who will probably end up going there and shoot.

She keeps shooting for what felt like hours until her fingers were as red as her blood. Until it was actual blood on some of them. She was happy to see some of her arrows hitting the target. At least she made some progress.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

With a jump, Kyria let go of her bow and took a step back. Behind her stood the shortest man she ever saw. She knew immediately who he was. Of course, she did. It wasn’t hard to guess in fact. Dark blond hair fell on his forehead and in front of his piercing green eyes. He wasn’t exactly ugly, contrary to what most people thought about him, but his face had something maybe in the shape of his nose, or the form of his eyes, that made him look… strange.

Tyrion Lannister. The imp...

“My lord,” she said as politely as she could.

What was he doing here? The feast was inside!

“My lady. I’d say I’m honored to meet you but it appears that we haven’t been presented yet.”

“Oh, Of course” blushed Kyria. “Kyria Stark my lord. The eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.”

The little man bowed again.

“A pleasure to meet you I’m sure,” he said with an amused smile.

“As I am my Lord.” she smiled.

She liked him. It was the first time since the King put a foot on dirt of the courtyard that one of the members of his court made a good impression on her. She wasn’t even sure why. But she liked him.

“So, you are practicing with a bow? Well, the North seems to be more interesting than I thought.”

Kyria blushed. He wasn't supposed to see that.

“It’s not that rare my Lord for women in the North. Those lands are harsh for everybody, man and woman. Some of us feel the need to know how to defend their skins.”

“Clever.” commented the man.

She didn’t want to mention her sisters in the discussion. Him seeing her was already annoying on its own, she couldn’t throw her sisters at his feet. As nice as he seemed to be, he was from the south, and Kyria couldn’t be sure he was not going to talk about his little discovery. If it was just her, she could manage, but she also had to think about Sansa and Arya. Especially Sansa...

“Who taught you to shoot like that my lady?”

“My brother,” she said.

“I see… The heir or the bastard?”

Kyria’s smile twitched on her face.

“You don’t like the word? Bastard.” he continued, not missing her discomfort. “I’ve heard about him you know, the bastard of Winterfell. He went for the Wall didn’t he?”

“Yes my lord. Almost a year ago,” she said.

“Lucky boy” snorted the imp.

“My Lord?”

“I always wanted to see the Wall. The greatest construction of mankind! The top of the World!”

He made some grand gesture to follow his words, a wide smile on his face.

Kyria thought of his words. It was one of the greatest things ever done by men. By her own ancestor none less.

“I supposed it is something...” she answered.

“Isn’t it?” nodded the man excitingly. “I think I would like to see that! Maybe I will take a little trip up there before coming back to the capital. I’m curious about it.”

Kyria blinked. _Bastard in his father’s eyes_ whispered her mind.

_Listen to the bastard in his father’s eyes._

Tyrion Lannister… Was he going to meet Jon at some point?

“If you want to my lord,” she said carefully.

“Oh, I do. Don’t you want to witness such a thing? I think the Wall is one of those things everyone should see once in their life. Don’t you agree?”

“Maybe I will someday...” she confessed, looking away. “But the Wall is no place for women my Lord.”

“Not even for the Sister of one of the Brothers of the night watch?”

Her gaze went right back to him, sharp and alert.

Lord Tyrion hummed, his eyes traveling on her silhouette.

“They talk a lot, your people.”

“Do they?” she asked back, her own eyes narrowing slightly on the man’s face.

“They do. About their precious Lord, and his children. They say you were close to your bastard brother.” he noticed. “You used to spend entire afternoons riding in the wild with the Heir of Winterfell and your bastard brother.”

Kyria bites the inside of her cheek, convinced the man was going somewhere with this discussion. The entire question was where. What did he want? Why was he talking about this?

“I’ve always been close to my family my lord. Jon is no exception.”

“And how is the great Lady Catelyn fairing the idea of her precious wolflings close to the greatest disgrace ever made to her name?” asked Tyrion Lannister a smug smile on his face.

Kyria almost groaned. Why was he so curious about her family suddenly?

Anger never win a fight, was hit with a weapon, or an argument. Listen if you want to know how to talk.

“You seem to be very curious about my family my Lord. Do you want to know something in particular?” she asked, with all the calm she could display.

Tyrion laughed bright and happy.

“Oh don’t mind me, my lady. I am only a curious little man, greedy of all the things I could learn from this new region I never visited before. And you never know what piece of information can be useful in the future! Maybe it will play in my favor to be on friendly terms with the sister of a Brother of the night watch. I am sure he will be pleased to hear about you were about!” he said jovially.

“I see,” she said with a smile, as true as she could be in front of a man she didn’t know what to think of. “Then, if it pleases you, learn my Lord. I won’t judge you for it.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard you are rather fond of knowledge yourself. Another strange occurrence of the North I suppose. Ladies of the south do not display their knowledge to the court.”

“There are some subjects on which a lady can not display too much science. It is not proper for a lady to know of the affair of men. Like politics, war, or anything else that could give some power to the fair sex isn’t it?”

“A beautiful way to say girls must appear stupid to survive in our world.” responded the man with a snort.

As they do.

Kyria smiled, the man was clever, that was said.

“And you know I suppose, the weigh the ignorance of others on your potential, don’t you, Lord Imp?”

“That I do my lady,” he responded with a smile.

“All dwarves are bastard to their father’s eyes,” he said.

Kyria blinked, chasing away a sentence too similar to something she said a while ago, in her brother’s ear.

Before she could say anything else, a familiar giggle erupted from a corner of the courtyard. A giggle that shouldn’t be heard at this time of the night. Kyria sighed, and excuse herself from the company.

As expected, she found her little brother, hidden in the kennels, his little form half hidden against the large shape of his wolf.

“Rickon! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, arm crossed. “Mother will be furious if she finds you here! And she’ll kill me if I don’t bring you back to your chambers right now!”

“But Kyria! Mother doesn’t want Shaggy in my room! I can’t sleep without Shaggy!” the boy responded, showing his little head from the fur surrounding it.

“And how were you sleeping before Shaggy then?”

“I didn’t know anything else!” the boy responded smartly.

Kyria snorted, and roll her eyes. Smartass.

“Well, you’ll have to do like before for a time brother. The wolves are not allowed in the castle while the king and his court are here.”

“But why?”

“Not everyone is used to giant beast strolling in the keep as they belonged here.”

“But they do! Jon said they belonged with us!” protested the little boy.

“I know little Lord,” she sighed. “But we have to do as Mother said. And it will only last while the King is here. He won’t stay forever.”

Rickon sighed, a pout forming on his face.

“I wished he wasn’t here.”

“I thought you liked him enough earlier. You seemed happy when he rubs your head.”

“I don’t like him if he steals Shaggy from me.” he decided with all the finality of a boy of six.

Kyria chuckled.

“Very well, but you still have to come with me, little Lord.”

He protested for some time again, but in the end, Kyria had the last word. She took him in her arms, noting his gain of height and weight, and brought him out of the kennels. Shaggydog protested when they reached the door, whining pitifully to have his master back.

“No Shaggy,” she said firmly. “You stay.”

The wolf whined again, tail between his legs, but didn’t take another step.

“That’s impressive, the control you seem to have on those beasts.” said Tyrion's voice, from behind her.

“It is isn’t it brother? I thought only the oldest boy could make them obey. It seems I was wrong.” said another voice.

Kyria winced. And she thought she had been freed from the noisy little lord when she heard Rickon. He was even more curious than she thought.

Annoying little Lord.

When Kyria turned around, her little brother still in her arms, she found next to the said man a silhouette in golden armor. A silhouette was easily recognizable.

“Ser Jaime.” she bowed.

“Lady… Kyria is it?”

“It is Ser.” she didn’t say anything else, waiting for the knight to talk first.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what Ser?”

“Tame those beasts!” he said jovially, pointing the kennels with a negligent hand.

“Shaggy is no beast!” protested the boy still in her arms.

She hushed him without letting go of Ser Jaime’s gaze.

“Aren’t they?” he said back. “Giant wolves coming right from the other side of the Wall? This sound suspiciously like a beast to me little Lord,” he said.

“I’m not your little lord! I’m Kyria’s! Nobody calls me that!” protested the boy.

“Rickon enough.” chastised Kyria with a bounce of the boy on her hip.

“But it’s true!”

“I said enough! Don’t you think you’re in enough trouble as it is?”

That cut him right out of any protestation he could have. Rickon blushed and looked down. That done, Kyria concentrates her attention back on the knight.

“We didn’t tame then Ser, as it was your question,” she said. “They chose us.”

“They chose you?” he repeated.

She nodded, bow to both the Lannister brothers and went to put her little brother to bed. All the way through his room she keeps thinking of the way she took her to leave of those lords. _They chose us…_ for god's sake couldn’t she have found anything less cheesy than that? That was ridiculous!

She went to bed that night, ashamed of her stupidity and persuaded to have appeared as silly as her last sentence had sounded to those men. And the worst of it was that she didn’t even know why it bothered her so much.

And to think she had expected that visit...

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

On the morrow, the Keep was just as agitated as if the feast was still going on. Without the laughers. And the grabby hands-on handmaiden’s bottoms. Or at least she hoped so…

Yuck!

Lord Stark had organized a great hunt in honor of his King. All the keep wanted to participate. Hunt wasn’t rare at Winterfell, but this one seemed bigger than anything ever organized. Or at least from what Kyria could remember.

They left early. The King and his heir were there, with their rich looking cloaks that seemed to be only good to slow them down. Not that she knew anything about hunts…

Also, she did know a couple of things about riding a horse with heavy fabric around her legs.

Robb, of course, came with Father, letting the rest of them entertain the two remaining royal children. It wasn’t a problem, they were sweet and more agreeable than their older brother.

The hunt wasn’t gone for more than a minute when both Tommen and Myrcella asked to see the wolves. Their mother wasn’t anywhere to see and their assigned Kingsguard, Ser Oakhart didn’t seem to mind. So Kyria and her sisters took upon themselves to show them their friends.

Rickon was with Mother, and she had no idea where Bran was.

The first step in the kennels, where the wolves were temporary kept was welcomed with five massive head excitingly turned in their direction, tails wagging and tongues rolling out of equally massive jaws.

The treat of all those small hands eager to pet them was enough to convince the five wolves to come around them in a giant puppy pile warm and lively.

“They are huge!” said Myrcella, her eyes wide open as Lady was sweetly letting her pet her soft fur.

“They are all brothers and sisters?” asked Tommen as Frost was nuzzling the hand he held for him.

The soft hair of his muzzle made the boy giggle in delight.

“They are,” responded Arya proudly. “It’s our brothers Robb and Jon and Bran who find them! They were tiny at first! Their eyes weren’t even open.”

“Were they?” asked the boy with huge eyes.

“Hum hum” nodded Arya.

She couldn’t be more proud of this was about her children…

“And where is their mother?” asked the little boy.

Kyria looked up.

“We find them against their mother’s corpse,” she said.

“Kyria!” protested Sansa. “this is not something you are supposed to say to a prince!”

“Why not? It is not necessary to cover the truth with a more soft thing just to prevent sensible ears. The truth will still be the truth.”

“But-”

“I know death.” said the little boy with a serious voice.

“Tommen,” said Myrcella, like a warning.

“Joffrey killed my cat.”

His words were followed by silence. Sansa looked pale. Arya frowned. And Kyria was curious. He said that before. But what did he mean?

“What do you mean my prince?” she asked softly.

Tommen looked at her when he talked. His innocent eyes were full of tears.

“He said he wanted to see the kitten inside. Before they were born. He said he was curious. So he took my cat and… he cut it. He cut her belly to look at the kitten inside. They were so small… They didn’t have eyes either.” explained the little boy, words strange when spoken with a voice so young. “He killed them. The mama and her babies.”

“By the gods...” mumbled a voice.

Kyria barely recognized it as her own.

They didn’t talk about it. After a second or two, Myrcella asked another question about the wolves, and the subject was closed.

But Kyria didn’t regret asking the question. If anything else, it helped sketch Joffrey’s character a bit more. Enough for Kyria to be comforted in her opinion. The boy was bad news. Bad enough to be… dangerous for the unfortunate lady who’ll have to marry him.

The problem was… as things were going, this unfortunate lady was probably going to be her sweet sister, who dreams of princes and happily ever after.

_If you thought this had a happy ending you’ve haven’t been paying attention._

No, she had to do something. She had to act. She couldn’t let Sansa marry this boy… The children around her continued their talk for a long time, but Kyria couldn’t remember much of it.

She had too many things in her mind.

Finally, after a pointed look from Sansa, Kyria shacked her head and try to grip the conversation where it was. She had a lot of things to think of yes but now was not the time.

The afternoon could have been as nice as that, if not for Kyria’s gift.

She was enjoying the princess’s conversation when a cold chill run right through her back. She stopped mid-sentence.

“Kyria?”

The wolves, all rolled together in a corner were suddenly agitated.

“Kyria? Are you alright?”

She found Frost looking at her, his eyes yellow and almost knowing.

One of the wolves whined. Behind her. She looked and found Summer, looking at her with his eyes huge, white visible. There was only one reason for the white of the eyes of a wolf to be visible. He was scared.

“Summer?”

The wolf whined again. He looked behind him, then at her, and whined. Kyria blinked and heard it.

_The things we do for love._

_He saw us!_

_For Love-_

_I’m sorry for what I did to you_

_Why did you do it?_

_I protected my family_

_The things I do for love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love._

_You can’t change it Kyria._

“Kyria?”

“I have to-” she said suddenly, already up on her legs.

“Kyria! Where are you going?!”

She didn’t answer, she runs as fast as she could, holding awkwardly her dress up enough not to hinder her steps. One thing clear on her mind. Bran. Bran. Bran.

She had to find Bran. Little brother. Bran.

_I’d rather have you walk like a wolf than fly like a bird little brother._

Bran!

Behind her, she could hear the paws of Summer, and maybe Frost too, as the wolves followed her. But she didn’t turn to see them. She didn’t have time. The run was long. Long and hard with her dress slipping between her hands, her lungs protesting against the effort and the cold air, her heart beating too strong, to fast. But she couldn’t stop.

She had to save her brother. She had to prevent it. She could see it. As clearly as she saw the path in front of her. His little body floating in the air. Alone. Slowly falling from the high tower. Oh so high. Falling.

Bran was going to fall. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to save her brother.

She could see him. So small in his large bed.

_I’d rather be dead._

_You can’t prevent it._

_Watch me_ she thought furiously. _Watch me preventing it. I won’t let my little brother suffer_. _Not if I have something to say about it._

_I’d rather have you walk like a wolf than fly like a bird little brother._

No, he won't. You won’t take him from us. You won’t. I won’t let you. I can’t. He won’t fall. He’ll stay as he is, Bran, Bran _Bran!_

He won't fall!

Finally, she saw him. Climbing at the Broken Tower, his little members quick and agile. He was close to the top. Close to the window, attached to the piece of wood that helped build the tower so many centuries ago.

He was close, and Kyria’s heart stopped. Close to the window.

_He saw us!_

_The things I do for Love_

No! Not on my watch!

She acted. Without thinking.

“BRANDON STARK!” she called with her most angry voice. “What in the Seven hells do you think you are doing!?”

The boy stilled, his hand on the plant growing through the window. Kyria’s heart was almost too loud for her to hear what he was to say.

“Kyria! Don’t scream like that!” he responded without looking at her.

“I scream if I want! Now answer me! What do you think you are doing up there!? Get down this instant!”

“But I almost reached the top!”

“I don’t care! You promised Brandon! No more climbing! So Get. Down. Here!”

“But-”

“Now! Or I ask Frost to call the household!”

“No! If mother sees me!”

“Oh, I know! You should have thought about it before!”

Gods he was so close. He could surely hear them. Hear what she had no idea, or she didn’t

took time to think about it. She’ll think later. About the voices, the words. Now she needed him to do as she said. He needed to go down right now.

“Please, Kyria! I’m almost at the top!”

“Don’t make me say it again Bran!”

The boy looked at her then. His eyes were defiant. She challenged him with her own. Whatever it was going to take he was going to climb down this tower. Even if she had to drag him herself.

“Last chance Brandon!” she threatened.

“You won’t!” he said back.

His hand moved to the window. Again, she reacted.

“Frost. Call.”

“No! No, I stop! Kyria!” said the boy immediately.

But it was too late. Frost throws his head back and howled. Of course, his brother soon followed him. And the others, at the kennels.

Soon, everyone knew something was happening.

“Why did you do that!” protested the boy.

“I told you I was going to do it. Now get down, before mother see how high you are!”

“She is going to ground me anyway...” mumbled the boy.

“Because you think she couldn’t have discovered it?” she responded. “Now get down!”

He didn’t have a choice this time, so he starts climbing down. Once low enough not to hear whatever was happening inside the broken tower, Kyria allows herself to look up to the window.

It was quick, but something moved from it. She could have sworn for a minute she saw a white shirt.

Her heart was still beating fast when people start arriving around her. There was Ser Rodrick, and Nan, and Mother. Hodor was there too, good giant.

“Hodor!” he called, trotting to them on his thick legs.

She couldn’t stop a smile to form on her lips. The sight of his tall silhouette eased her heart immediately. _He was strong_ , whispered her mind, _he could catch Bran if ever-_

No. It wasn’t happening.

_Not on my watch. Not on my watch..._

“Kyria what-” Mother’s sentence stopped when her eyes fell on her son, still attached to the rock of the tower.

“Brandon Stark!” she exclaimed scandalized. “What do you think you are doing here?”

Oh, she could have cried her relief. He was climbing down now, he couldn’t do otherwise. It was over. _He didn’t see, he didn’t see..._

What followed was to be expected. Kyria looked absent-mindedly as her mother was scolding the boy. She couldn’t have been more relieved.

“What happened Kyria?” asked Sansa from behind her.

“Bran didn’t keep his word,” she said simply.

“What did he do?” asked the sweet voice of the princess.

Kyria smiled at her.

“He climbed the broken tower,” she said.

“The tower? How did he do that?”

“He always does that,” said Arya from behind them. “He climbs from every tower of the keep. The walls, the gate. Everything he can find.”

“And did he ever fell?” questioned Tommen next to his sister.

“Not once,” responded Kyria pride in her voice and relief in her heart. “Bran never fell. Though the wind, the rain, the storm… anything. Bran never falls.”

“Impressive!” mumbled the little princess.

“It is, isn’t it.” smiled Sansa.

Once Bran correctly chastised by Mother and safety back in the Keep, Kyria falls against the closest wall. Her heart strong between her lungs. She did it. She prevented it. Bran didn’t fall. The smile on her face was so big, for a moment he hurt her cheeks.

_The things I do for love._

She did it!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The Hunt came back at the end of the day. Like the majority of the keep, she was there to see them coming from the gate.

Robb, proud of the game he was bringing back from the day, found his sister in the middle of the crowd, a wide smile on her face. He knew, immediately that something happened.

He waited ‘til the library’s door was closed to ask his question.

“What is the matter?”

“I think I just prevent something to happen,” she said excitingly.

Robb blinked, a shy, confused smile on the corner of his mouth.

“What do you mean? What did you-”

“Bran!” she cut him. “Bran was supposed to fall from the Broken tower today,” she revealed. “Or- or be pushed I think. And I prevented it. He didn’t fall.”

“What?” he breathed. “Who would have pushed him? Why? He’s just a little boy!”

“I’m not sure about that part,” she said with hesitation. “ I think… maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to see. Something dangerous, at least for him.” she said.

“But what?”

“I have no idea...” she said.

Robb sighed and looked at the holder. Kyria bites her lip.

“There was something though...” she said. “Something I’ve heard. While I was trying to save Bran. Something familiar.”

“What is it?”

“The things I do for Love.”

Robb blinked.

“Jaime Lannister?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” she responded.

“But… why?”

“I don’t know.”

Robb sighed. She felt bad, not to be able to help more than that. But she didn’t choose what to see or not. They had to deal with what they had.

Which wasn’t much, unfortunately.

Anyway, that was not the subject they needed to focus on.

“But Robb, the thing is… I prevented it,” she said again, smiling. “Whatever Bran was about to see, he didn’t. Because I stopped him from doing so!”

“Aye… Aye, you did.” he smiled too. He didn’t look as happy as she was.

Maybe he didn’t get it. Maybe he didn’t get the situation as she did.

“Robb...” she said again, pressing her hand in his arm. “if I could do something about Bran, then maybe I can also change something else...”

“Aye, maybe...” he said. “But what if someone still wanted to harm him?”

“Why would they? He didn’t see anything,” she said dismissively.

She felt powerful, for the first time in her life. She could do something. She could act against those dreams, and the destiny they were caring.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Bran wasn’t allowed to leave his room for the rest of the day. He was grounded. Father didn’t say anything to prevent it, as he sometimes did when Mother was disciplining them. Kyria felt bad, as everybody was eating in the great hall. But in the end, she had saved her brother from a fall that could have cost him everything. If not his life, at least his dreams.

She went to see him later in the evening and found him curled under his furs. And some that didn’t completely belonged to him.

“How did Summer end up here?” she asked.

Bran didn’t answer. He hides his face against Summer’s flank.

“Bran?”

“Go away,” he responded, his face hidden.

“Bran...”

“I said go away.”

She sighed. He was pissed at her.

“You’re angry.”

“Why did you have to call them!?” he exploded, pulling his face out of his hiding place.

“Because you weren’t listening! I warned you several times to come down and you refused!”

“I was going to!”

“When? Once you reached the top?”

He blushed and looked down. She was right then. Kyria sighed again and took a careful step into the room.

“Why does that even bother you?” asked her brother. “I do it all the time! I’ve never fallen!”

“That’s not the question Bran!”

“Then what?”

“You-” she stopped and took a deep breath. She needed to calm down. She couldn’t talk while angry. “You promised Mother, remember? No more climbing while the King is here. And yet, you climb!”

“But Mother know I was lying when I promised!”

“And that makes it better?”

The boy blushed and looked down. At least he had the decency to look ashamed. Kyria hesitated, before saying the other thins she had in mind.

“Besides… Bran while you were climbing, did you hear… something inside the tower?”

He immediately looked up.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I… Well I saw someone.”

“In the tower?”

“Yes. Tell me, what did you hear?”

Bran frowned and took his time to think.

“I’m not sure what it was...I heard… I don’t know whimper maybe. Like someone was hurt. And then- Breath? Like someone was running a lot.”

Oh my…

“And- Did you recognize the voice maybe?”

Bran shacked his head. “No… But I’m sure one of them was a woman.”

“One of them?”

He nodded again.

“There were two different breaths.”

Kyria nodded. She could have bet those weren’t in pain while Bran heard them. The young girl smiled at him, rub the hair from his face and told him to sleep. She arranged the fur around him and exit the room.

“Goodnight Bran.”

“Goodnight sister!”

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

For a couple of days, Kyria didn’t think about the incident. She was confident and with the new knowledge of her ability to actually change things, she starts planning. Life went on, with the King and his court, apparently determined to stay at least a fortnight. Kyria took the opportunity for what it was, an occasion to observe those new people in a place they were not familiar with. She liked to sit on a corner of the room, to look at the Queen or Baelish, or even the King or Ser Jaime. She tried to guess what was happening inside their heads. Knowledge was essential if she wanted to protect her family.

The queen was easy enough. She hated the North. She hated their castle and their wolves. Everything. More then that, she seemed to despise them. She wasn’t a good queen Kyria decided as she saw her acting the way she was around her people. The northerner was not very warm to strangers. But even so, their beloved queen wasn’t helping her cause. She stayed most of the time with her people. Her brothers, her children, the ladies in waiting that accompanied her everywhere and Baelish.

She found them talking several times. But never thought much of it. She wanted to look at the behaviors, not the discussions.

A mistake, she learned later.

Ser Jaime was interesting. There was something about him that bothered her. Like a mistake in his song. He often looked like he didn’t care about anything. He seemed arrogant, full of himself and selfish like she rarely saw. But sometimes, when he was with his brother, or on the courtyard with the soldiers… Or every time someone was calling him Kingslayer, there was something. A tic on the jaw, a stiffness on his shoulders that made Kyria think he may care more than he wanted everyone to believe.

The King was an oaf. And a fool. He looked just as ridiculous as she thought he was the first time she saw her. There wasn’t much to think of him in her opinion, also she didn’t lose much time studying him. Besides she didn’t want to see anything of his… daily activities.

She saw enough the night of the feast.

Baelish was more complicated. For all the time she spends looking at him, studying his manners and the way he was behaving, she could say only one thing about him: he was in love with her mother. Or at least he was lusting after her. He was looking at her like the most delicious cake he ever saw in his life. Sometimes she was afraid to see him drooling.

Disgusting snake.

Maybe she was becoming arrogant. She thought the Old Gods might found her so. For what other reason could they have done what they did that afternoon?

Or maybe they only wanted to teach her a lesson. If so, a cruel one.

She couldn’t act against destiny.

In any way, things couldn’t continue like they were. She thought she was in control.

Control. Ha.

The afternoon was nice. At first. She was in the glass gardens with her sisters and their wolves. They were talking about Sansa’s new favorite subject, her newfound betrothal to the crown prince and Kyria was patiently listening to her daydreaming, not without a frequent look at Arya who’s patience seemed less and less able to deal with it. Then, she felt it.

This familiar cold chill that ran all through her back. She stopped right in the middle of her steps.

“Why would you even marry a boy that kills kitten Sansa!?” asked Arya with disbelief to her right.

“It’s not- it doesn’t mean anything about his character...” protested the redhead girl.

“Oh don’t be stupid! Of course, it means something!”

“If he can kill a small animal who didn’t do anything to him just so he can see what’s inside, what do you think he can do to someone who angered him?” said Kyria, distracted by her pulse.

Something was wrong. She felt cold like she never did before. It wasn’t that cold outside. The day was smooth like it rarely was in the North. They could even see the blue sky, without a single cloud. A beautiful day indeed. Besides, they were in the glass gardens, and those things were designed to keep the warmth inside. But still, something was wrong.

“Are you listening Kyria?” asked Sansa with something like exasperation.

“Excuse me, Sansa, I-” she sighed. “I feel strange.”

“Strange? Are you ill?”

“No, I-”

Two things happened at the same time. The cold inside her was replaced by a burning heat that almost made her choke on her own tongue. A heat that she had to cough out of her lungs.

And the second was a howl.

“Kyria!” exclaimed Sansa, her small hand immediately coming to support her back.

“What is it?” asked Arya behind them.

Something was wrong. Something was happening. Something wrong.

_You can’t prevent it, Sister._

No… No no-no. She did. She prevented it. She prevented Bran from falling. She did. This couldn’t happen. This couldn’t be happening. She stopped it! She saved Bran! He couldn’t- No no this wasn’t happening. It was not possible.

This-

But she felt wrong. There was something seriously wrong happening right now!

_You can’t prevent it…_

_But I did!_ Screamed a part of her, in the chaos of her mind.

“Kyria?” asked Sansa again. “Kyria are you alright?”

“I- Something is wrong.” she breathed.

Around them, the wolves seemed agitated. They looked around them like tracked beasts. The howl was heard again, and Nymeria responded to it.

“Nymeria!” called Arya. “Stop it!”

No. No no no no no. This couldn’t happen. She refused it. It wasn’t right! No! It couldn’t!

“Something is wrong,” said Kyria, her voice stronger.

“What? What are you saying?” responded Sansa.

“No, no, something is wrong!”

With one push, Kyria detached herself from her sister, and run out of the gardens. The wolves on her heels. The scene was painfully familiar. Except for this time there were three wolves behind them, and she didn’t know where she was going. Her heartbeat was stronger than ever. She couldn’t even think clearly. She was just lucid enough to put her hand in front of her when she reached the doors.

 _No no no no no…_ keep saying the voice in her mind.

She could see him falling again. His small body alone in the air. And it burned. Her chest burned. Something was wrong. Oh, something was so so very wrong! Wrong wrong wrong!

This couldn’t happen!

“Kyria! Lady!”

“Nymeria!”

She ignored them. She ignored them all, her sisters, the people around her. She couldn’t deal with it. She didn’t have time, all of her attention was concentrated on one single thing. This feeling burning inside her. And Bran. Bran. Bran, Bran, Bran.

_Bran!_ Screamed the voice.

She entered the courtyard, and smell it. The smell echoed to the feeling in her chest. And saw it too. The people running around, panicked, screaming at each other one single word. Again and Again.

Kyria’s mind didn’t get it. She heard the voiced, the word, but she didn’t get it. She couldn’t understand. She couldn’t deal with what was said around her.

_Bran, Bran Bran_ whispered her mind.

Soon her sisters came behind her, looking around with big worried eyes. At her first, then at the people. They talked but Kyria didn’t hear. Their voices were like… smothered. As if she was listening to them from behind a door.

Someone grabbed her hand, and Kyria looked at it. The hand was large and strong. She looked up, only to find Robb’s huge eyes. He looked scared. No, not scared. Panicked. Frightened.

She didn’t know. Her mind didn’t get it. She didn’t understand.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

_Kyria!_

He talked to her, but she didn’t hear a thing.

The wolves ran past her. They ran fast. Kyria struggled against Robb’s grip to follow them. Robb talked again, but she didn’t hear them. All she could hear was smothered noises.

Somehow the hand let go of her wrist.

She ran out of the keep, to the back, by the North’s gate.

There, close to the glass gardens, there were some barns, where the grain was kept. Or at least part of it. A great light was coming from the place. People were screaming and running around. Kyria looked at them like she was out of her own body. Like a dream.

Like one of her visions.

She took a couple of steps, and someone grabs her again.

_Kyria Wait! The fire!_

_Kyria!_

_Stop her! Kyria Stop!_

Fire?

Is there a fire? Was it the reason behind this great light?

But she had to keep going. She had to stop it. Stop the heat to progress any longer. The heat that was now out of her chest. The heat that had traveled elsewhere.

She had to prevent it. She had to.

Bran. She had to save Bran.

“Bran...” she breathes.

“What?” said the voice behind.

Familiar voice. Robb?

“Kyria step back!”

“No, I-”

But already the wolves were running back, howling and barking with distress. Nymeria and Frost and Lady.

And Summer.

“No.”

“Kyria step back!” said Robb again.

And she noticed then, she was still trying to walk through. To come closer.

_You can’t prevent it, sister. You can’t change anything._

But she did. She prevented it. Why did it-

Why did that happen? What… What happened?

Fire. Yes, there was a fire. A fire in the barns. And Bran…

“There’s someone in there!” screamed a man close to her.

“No...”

“Help him!”

“Kyria!” called Robb.

She screamed then. Robb grabs her in his arms and try to calm her, but she still screamed. One single word before falling silent. Painful tears falling from her eyes. Tears as sharp as blades in her soul. Poisoned blades. That hurt deep inside her, leaving a mark more profound than anything she ever felt.

Tears at the sight of the burning barn, the screaming men, the agitation of the folks. The hot breath of her brother against her skull. His arms and their iron grip on her middle, circling her arms to prevent her escape.

The wolves around her howled with her scream. Summer in the middle of his litter, looking distressed. Panicked.

As powerless as she was.

Soon, the fire burns out. The people calmed down. Her tears ran out. Robb’s grip weakened. But he didn’t let go of her. If he had, she would have fallen.

Someone else screamed. Behind them. A familiar voice. Mother.

Hodor came out of the smoke, holding something in his giant arms. She didn’t scream this time. The word had already left her mouth.

Still, Robb whispered it for her, as the good giant ran to the keep, his precious burden safely hidden to everyone’s eyes, under his arms. But Kyria knew. Robb knew. The wolves knew.

Mother knew.

She didn’t prevent it. She didn’t prevent anything. She made things worse, by interfering. She made everything worse.

Summer howled again, the sound was sad and heartbreaking. Broken in his oh so strong throat. His pack responded, sharing the pain.

Kyria wished she could have done the same. But her voice was shut out from her reach. She already said the word.

_You can’t change it, sister. I have to stop being Bran Stark._

“BRAN!”

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> Please don't hate me!  
> I'm sorry but I had to do something! I know it's horrible but technically I can't change Bran's fate. I needed him to become the three-eyed-raven and for that, he had to lose something.  
> The way I see it, to become a seer, or in this case, the Three-eyed-raven, you have to lose part of yourself. The precedent three-eyed-raven couldn't move, stuck in a Heart tree. For Bran in the original timeline, it was his legs. In my story, Kyria lost all her memories for the first years of her life in exchange for her ability to see the future. I think everyone guessed that now ^^'.  
> And so, to be the Three-eyed-Raven, Bran has to lose something. I won't say precisely what was his loss, because I will talk about it later.
> 
> But anyway, this was also important for Kyria directly. It is part of a lesson she needs to learn. She is very arrogant right after the Tower, and she can't allow herself to be that way. Or, well, I can't allow that XD.  
> This book is a lesson for Kyria. She had to learn to control her vision, and to use them wisely. She can't do nothing, but she can't do everything either. 
> 
> Or, if you want, it's a way for me to send a message to you readers: she is not all-powerfull, she is no god just because she had clues on what might happen to her. She's human, she make mistakes. And those mistakes cost much more than anyone else's. Because she's suppose to know better.
> 
> I'm not sure if it is very clear what I try to do there, so don't hesitate to tell me what you think of that. 
> 
> As always thank you wall for reading me, commenting, and leaving kudos, I really appreciate it. I hope you liked this chapter, and I'll se you as soon as I can ^^'


	9. Chapter 9: And now my journey begin...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The change had been made. Now they all have to face the consequences and live with what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed the last chapter ^^. Or at least as much as you could with the... events.  
> Again I'm sorry, but it had to be done... As I said, it's a lesson for everyone Kyria like the reader. It means to show that even though Kyria can see the future, she's not a goddess and she can't control everything. She can make mistakes too, and people can still get hurt. Even more so because she is seeing the future. In a way, her mistakes are worse than anyone else. Because she's supposed to know better.  
> Except she's human. So she can't be perfect.  
> I also wanted to thank you all for sharing your opinion on this, and for reading it anyway x). I really appreciated it, it means a lot to me to see that what I do isn't completely dull or pointless.
> 
> This chapter is the last one in Winterfell. We are leaving the North to the South and it's also the last one we'll saw all the family reunited for a long long time! (if ever... niark!)  
> So we're going to Kingslanding, and we all know what happens there ;). Now, what am I going to change?  
> We'll see!

**Chapter 9: And now my journey begin…**

**Year 298 after the Conquest, Third month, eleventh Day.**

**Robb**

This was a nightmare.

There was no other explanation. How could things had gone so wrong in only a couple of hours? How could everything turn suddenly so bad?

He didn’t know what to do. What to think of all of it. By the gods what a mess it was…

Father wasn’t talking. He hadn’t talked since the fire ended. He sat in the great hall and looked at the fire in the great fireplace. He looked and he didn’t talk. He didn’t move, either. He seemed as solemn as always, if not for the emptiness of his eyes, reflecting the light of the fire.

Rickon, the poor little boy, didn’t understand what was happening around him. He stayed stick to his older brother’s leg all evening, begging for answers. Crying. And Robb didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say to a boy so young, in a situation such as this one?

As for Bran… Gods Bran…

The Maester and a couple of handmaidens were locked inside the Maester Tower with him for hours now. No one heard anything about his state since Hodor brought him there, in the middle of the afternoon. Robb didn’t even know if he was-

He couldn’t think about it. The mere idea made him want tho throw up.

Gods how everything could have gone so wrong…

And the girls… his poor sisters. Sansa had cried for hours, wrapped in his arms. Arya, once the shock passed, had been in a fury, angry at everything and everyone. At Father, for not saying anything, at the servant for not watching more closely the barns, for not preventing the fire, against Bran for climbing again even though Mother had forbidden it, and punished him for not keeping his word, against mother who hadn’t left the Maester Tower since Bran had been brought there. Angry at the King she found responsible for all this mess. She didn’t know how to deal with the situation.

She didn’t know how to deal with Bran being…

Oh, and who was he kidding: He had no idea of how to deal with this mess!

And Kyria…

Kyria didn’t say a thing since he brought her back from the barns. She didn’t cry like she did while the fire was still raging, she didn’t talk after her scream of Bran’s name, as she was desperately trying to free herself from his grip. As she tried to run to the fire, to Bran, to whatever she was trying to do. Kyria seemed empty of any kind of emotion, reaction… of life even if not for her pulse and breath, still steady.

Robb put her on her bed, and she didn’t move. Sansa and Arya wrapped themselves around her and she didn’t move. Frost and Lady and Nymeria wrapped themselves around her and she didn’t move. She closed her eyes and stayed there. Without a word.

Robb didn’t know what to do. He thought of Bran, of his father, his sisters, his mother. He thought about them and he felt lost. He thought of this morning when everything was still fine. He thought of the days before, where they were all enjoying the gracious presence of their King, and its court when he and Bran were observing the knight training on the courtyard. Where his little brother was excitingly telling him about the day before, when Ser Jaime Lannister, known as the best swordsman of all the Seven Kingdom had talked to him, told him about the day Ser Arthur Dayne made him a knight.

He thought about that day, the one of the Hunt, and the joy on his sister’s face as she told him of her afternoon.

_The thing is Robb, I prevented it… I sopped him from seeing anything._

She looked so proud back then. Proud for having done something she didn’t think possible.

Yet, here they were, a couple of days later, in the middle of the worst nightmare he ever experienced. Him, alone, in his room, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now. And Kyria… lifeless in her bed, wrapped under her sisters and wolves like a living blanket.

 _Who did they end up in this mess?_ He wondered again and again.

But he still had no answers.

“Robb?”

He looked up, rubbing the salt out of his face.

“Theon.” he greeted.

“looking gloomy here,” he said looking around the room.

“It’s night Greyjoy,” he responded.

“Wasn’t talking about the room, or outside. I was talking about your face, and the air around you.” he snorted.

“Well pardon me if I am not up for a good laugh right now.” he snared.

Theon frowned.

“What happened?” he asked. “Someone is dead or something?”

“Watch your tongue.”

Finally, the fool loses his smile.

“What happened Robb?”

The heir looked down. He rubbed his face and gathered his thought. He was so tired. If only he could wake up in his bed as if nothing happened.

If only nothing had happened...

“There was a fire, on one of the bairns,” he said. “The entire thing broke down, all that was inside was burned.” he paused, and looked away, a foolish way to hold back his tears. “Bran… Bran was climbing the wall next to the bairn. He- The flames...”

“Did he...” asked Theon, not daring ending his sentence.

“I don’t know.” Robb’s voice broke in the middle of the word. His tears fell.

He bites back a sob, and hide his face inside his hand, too ashamed to show it to the world. After a minute or two, a hand gently grab his shoulder, pressing it lightly.

For once, Theon didn’t say a thing. Robb was grateful for that. He wept silently for a couple of minutes, thank his friend, then asked him to leave him alone. He needed to sleep, he needed to be ready for the morrow.

Things might be very hard then…

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Things were hard. Of course, they were. Nothing magically disappear with the next morning. It was not a nightmare.

Everything was still gloom, tense and heavy, the faces closed and the laughter muted. The King didn’t like this new atmosphere in the Keep, so far from the joyous feast that welcomed him only a fortnight prior.

It didn’t take long for him to decide to leave. He was still taking Father with him, along with Sansa and Arya as it had been decided before the fire. Robb had four days to get used to his father’s absence, and the new responsibilities that were falling on his back.

For a couple of hours, he hoped to see his mother coming out of the Maester’s Tower, to help him maybe, or to support her children in their sorrow. But she didn’t come. And so, Robb had to take care of everything by himself.

He spends his day trying to fit in his Father’s shoes. With difficulties, he must admit. Theon stayed close to him, the gods bless him. By the end of the afternoon, Sansa and Arya appeared briefly, glued to each other’s side. They followed Septa Mordane for her lessons, and he even caught them talking to the princess Myrcella, the girl as sweet as she had been since her arrival.

Kyria didn’t appear that day. Robb renounced his hope of seeing her after Sansa and Arya’s appearance. He performed his duties as best as he could. He took care of the house, the servant, the people. He did his duty as Heir of Winterfell. It was strange to do it without his parent’s watchful gazes. He felt alone, and suddenly incredibly young, in front of those people asking for his help and counsel. A green boy likes no other.

He didn’t sleep well that night.

On the morrow, in the middle of their fast, Kyria finally appeared. She came into the Hall, her face was stern and tired. She didn’t seem to have slept well. Also, there was something in her eyes. Something not looking like sadness. She didn’t look at anyone, other than Father. She went right to him, close to his ear. Robb couldn’t hear what was said, but both of them soon disappeared behind the heavy doors.

A part of him was dying to know what was said between them. However, he couldn’t just go and ask them, or spy on their discussion. For one, he had still his duties to perform. And it would do no good for him to test his Father’s patience. As calm as Ned Stark usually was, this was not a usual situation, with Bran’s still in the care of their Maester Luwin, and their Mother locked up in the Maester’s Tower, his father may be more susceptible, than what everyone was used to. More inclined to anger.

So Robb bites his tongue and swallows back his curiosity. He could still ask Kyria later.

Finally, to his utter relief, Father came to help him somewhere along the afternoon. His face was still long, but Robb couldn’t be more relieved. He didn’t feel well in his role as Lord of Winterfell while his father was still present in the Keep. In fact, he didn’t feel well in the role at all. But he knew better than to complain.

The man, sat next to Robb, with a hand on his shoulder. Robb smiled at him. The hand on his shoulder didn’t leave. Robb’s smile disappears.

“Father?” Robb asked.

Ned sighed and looked at him with tired eyes.

“Maester Luwin gave us news of Bran’s state.” he started.

Robb’s heart stopped in his chest. Finally! He could finally know if his little brother was going to live or not.

“How is he? Is he gonna...” pressed the heir.

Father nodded.

“He’ll live.”

“Oh thank the gods...” sighed the young men, falling back on his chair.

He could have laughed, right now. His little brother was going to live. He was alright…

“He won’t be.”

Robb blinked. What?

“What?”

“Bran is not going to be alright for a long time...” he said, his voice slow and reasoning like inside a cave.

“What do you mean Father?”

“The fire… the fire eats the meat of his leg. A lot of it.”

Robb blinked, digesting the new. Again, what? Did that- What did that mean?

“But… he’ll be alright?” he corrected himself before Father could. “I mean he’ll be...he’ll live?”

“He will, but… he’ll never walk again. Not like he did before. He’ll never run, or climb anymore...” explained Father.

Robb heard him, but his mind had trouble getting the meaning.

“He’ll be a cripple?” he finally asked.

Father nodded.

“He’ll… he won't be a knight then...” add Robb awkwardly.

That was all his poor mind could get. Bran… Bran couldn’t be a knight now… He couldn’t even walk properly again… if at all.

Robb didn’t know what to say how to react. He didn’t know what to do with this…

“What- what will happen to him then?” he asked.

He could barely recognize his own voice. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t possible. Things couldn’t go so wrong… How could they arrive here?

“He didn’t wake up yet. He’ll have to stay in the Tower for a couple of days, just the time for the burn to… to heal.” said Father. “Your mother is with him.”

Robb nodded. It took him a couple of minutes before he could understand what was said.

“I will leave with the court in three days.” he continued. “your sisters are coming with me.”

Robb nodded again absentmindedly. Then his brain caught up with what was just said

“Wait, what do you mean my sisters, Kyria too?”

“Aye. She’ll be needed for Sansa’s wedding. Or at least to prepare her for it.”

“But- She’s not married...”

“Aye, but she’s older. And wise beyond her age. Your sister will need her in the viper nest that’s the Capital,”

“But Father...”

“It’s no discussion. Besides, she insisted.”

That stopped Robb. Why?

Why would she want to go with them?

Father left the room shortly after, living a confused Robb all to his thoughts.

Why would she want to go there?

Oh, he was stupid. Of course, he knew why.

_Maybe I can also change something else…_

_Head rolling on the floor, right to my feet. And I knew the face._

She was going to try it. She was stubborn enough to try to prevent whatever might happen. If it ever happens.

But she knew something was about to happen to Bran. And she did try to save him, even in the flames. He had to restrain her physically to prevent her to run right into the fire. He could still feel the strength he had to put to restrain her, his fear, of hurting her or seeing her hurting herself.

Her scream, agonizing in his ears like someone just pull off one of her limbs.

He knew she was stubborn enough to try again. She didn’t like to give up. She never did. But what could sh do against them? The gods themselves seemed determined to prove her wrong. The first thing she changed ended up in almost the same way as in her visions. If not worse. Bran was still crippled. What could she do against them?

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. Besides, without her here, who would help him take his duty? She was needed here…

He couldn’t let her leave home. He couldn’t allow it. If things were going to be as bad as her dreams, he couldn’t lose all his sisters. He couldn’t lose her and her incredible brain. She was so much better at this than what he could ever be.

He was walking silently in the corridors, his head full of things when a small hand grabbed his.

“Robb? Do you have news about Bran?” asked the soft voice of his little sister.

Blue eyes found blue. Sansa was looking at him, pleading, all her face sad and worried. Robb felt his heart squeeze inside his chest. Oh, Sansa… Why did she have to ask this to him?

He couldn’t resist his little sisters, that was one of Theon’s favorite things to joke with, but it was true. He couldn’t when he was a boy and Sansa was looking at him with those big blue eyes asking to play with her, or when Arya wanted to play with a wooden sword like the other boys, or when Kyria asked him to stay a bit longer and read with her. Those three with their big round eyes full of hope and need of their big brother were his weaknesses.

And there again, he couldn’t say no to Sansa. Not when she was looking at him like this. Even more so when he knew she was going to leave in a couple of days and he wouldn’t see her before a long long time.

_If ever…_

Sansa was the worst of the three. Kyria and Arya… they had teeth. They bite if they needed too. But Sansa was sweet and soft. A sweet little girl believing in song and fairy tales. He couldn’t say no to his sweet little sister. Never.

“Oh, Sansa...” he sighed, pulling her in his arms.

She buried her face against his neck, sniffing a little bit. Robb prayed the old gods and the news for her sister not to cry. He couldn’t stand when she was crying.

“Bran is...” he started. It was hard thinking of him. Bran…

“Is he alright?” she asked, her voice muffled by his tunic.

“He’s… he’ll live. But he’s been hurt. A lot.”

“How bad?”

“His leg… one of his legs had been burned. Severely.”

She made a little noise Robb refused to call a sob. He hushed her still, and rocked her a little in his arms, like a baby.

“It’s gonna be alright Sansa. He’ll live. That’s what matters the most.”

Her head moved against him, but she didn’t let go. Robb didn’t complain. She was so young, and she was leaving. If she wanted to hug her big brother for hours, he wasn’t going to say no.

So they stayed like that a moment.

“But-” she wiped her nose and standoff of him. “ He’ll be alright?”

“I hope so...” he responded.

She sighed.

“Everything will be alright,” he said more forcefully.

She nodded and smiled one last time.

“I have to go pack my things for… for”

“I know,” he said.

Robb kissed his sister’s forehead, noticing how tall she was becoming, and let her go.

 _Everything will be alright_ he thought for himself.

But he didn’t sound convinced, even inside his head. How could he be?

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He found Kyria later in the day. She was in her room. She was packing. His eyes crossed Frost's. The beast was on the floor, his giant head on his just as giant paws. He was looking at him closely. It was always strange for him to have a wolf so big looking at him like that. With Greywind it was different. Greywind was his. His and his alone.

“What are you doing?” he asked behind her.

She jumped and looked at him.

“Robb! What are you doing snicking behind me like that?”

“I’m not snicking I knocked. It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me,” he said looking closely at her face.

Her features were drawn, her eyes tired. It was more obvious up close. Did she sleep last night? She looked worn out. But there was something familiar in her eyes. In the way, her jaw was contracted. She looked determinate. He knew that expression. That was going to be hard…

She sighed and went back to her things.

“You’re packing?” he asked again.

She nodded without looking at him. He waited, but she didn’t say anything else. Robb took a step further in her room.

“You’re leaving then?” he asked. “With the court?”

She stopped.

“I have too.”

“Why?” he asked. “Without Father, and with Mother… busy elsewhere… Kyria I will need you with me. I can’t do that alone.”

She looked at him.

“You’ll do very well on your own.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Why do you think I spend endless hours forcing you to read all those books?”

He frowned.

“You knew? You knew Father was-”

“I dreamed about him lightened by the sun once. A bright, warm sun. Something we don’t see often in the North. If ever.”

That was true… But still, a part of him felt betrayed. She prepared him to take his Father’s place.

“Did you intend to leave too?”

“I thought I might have too… If I- If I want to have any chance to prevent-”

“Prevent? Do you still think you can do that? After Bran?”

Her shoulder tensed immediately. Robb almost bites his lips. Wrong choice of words.

“I saved Bran from a fallen brother. I did it,” she said coldly. “What happened after… I was arrogant and stupid. I shouldn’t have released my attention. I should have been more careful.”

“Should- Kyria you can’t control every single thing happening around you!”

“it’s not what I want,” she responded just as harshly. “But I can’t spend my entire life dreaming of people dying without doing anything Robb. I can’t- Even if it’s possible that I-” she stopped and dropped her gaze.

“Kyria, if things go wrong South…”

“I have to try Robb!” she cut him with a cry.

He shut up.

“I know that with Bran… That I may have made things worse”

“Kyria-”

“Don’t tell me it’s not true!” she cut him again. “I know that I prevent his fall! He would have only lost his legs! But now-” she blinked, her eyes glossy “Now he’ll be in pain all his life.”

“Kyria it’s not your fault. It was an accident...”

“But be warned me!” she sobbed. “He said I couldn’t prevent it and me- I thought I could! And now I only made it worse!”

Robb hushed her, pulling her close to him in an attempt to calm her tears. He didn’t understand completely those dreams, he may never will. But he knew the place they took in her life. He could still remember the screams at night, back when she didn’t understand what happened.

She didn’t scream after their talk with Old Nan. But he knew deep down that her dreams didn’t stop whatsoever. She just… hide it.

“You can’t control everything Kyria. We are not in a book or a game where everything is written with a sense and a meaning. People make choices. You can’t control people’s will, no matter how hard you may want it.”

“But I- I can do something...” she wept. “I… That’s why I have to go South. Even if I end up useless, I’d rather die in the south trying to save us all than stay here one more year, slowly losing my mind seeing things happening without doing anything.”

“Kyria-”

“And even so. Arya and Sansa are going. And they have no idea of the things that might go wrong. I have to try… I have to protect them.”

“Aye I get the feeling,” he said with a smile. “But you understand that I may want to protect you too?”

She nodded without looking at him.

“I have to try Robb. I will not let the South or those visions destroy me, or my family. I’d rather die.”

There was a fever in her eyes. A light, something almost maniac, that seemed colder than any wind he ever experienced in his life. He knew he couldn’t change her mind. She was decided, and nothing could convince her of anything else.

But still, he couldn’t say he liked it. He was afraid. Of so many things. His mind keeps going back to those papers hidden in the library, known only to him, her, and Jon. With her gone, there was just him. He wasn't prepared to face such a thing.

“I don’t like it Kyria,” he said.

“I know.” she nodded, her eyes softened when falling on his face. “ But it has to be me. You are the heir and Jon is sworn to the Wall. I am the only one, out of the three of us, who can hope to do something.” she explained, with logic even Robb didn’t hear. He knew that look. It was not that she was forced. She wanted to leave. “I have to leave.”

“No,” he said. “You can’t fool me, sister. You want to.”

She frowned and opened her mouth. But this time he didn’t let her talk.

“No, don’t try to deny it. I know you better than anyone on this keep. I know how you think. I know you want to leave. You wanted that for months now. Since Jon left. And I also know I can’t change your mind.” he said defeated. “But you have to promise me, something sister. Be careful. This won’t be Winterfell, and if I learned something out of all those books you forced on me, it’s that down there, you can’t trust words of honor, like we do here. And I don’t know what I’d do if something happens to you. You or the girls. Or even Father.”

“Oh I know what you’ll do,” she said with a sad smile. “I know you too brother. You’ll do what your damned wolf blood command you to. You’ll start a war.”

He snorted. He might do that indeed. Without her wise councils, he very well might ask for blood the first occasion he’ll found.

Both of them shared a smile, accomplice in their shared stubbornness.

“I know,” she said again, taking his hand in hers. And gods since when her hands were that small? “that there is a big chance for things to go very wrong very quickly. If it happens...if you do go to war, promise me something, Robb.”

“What?”

“Well… a couple of things.” she shrugged tilting her head. Of course, there were multiple things. Greedy sister. “First, do not think you’re better commander if you command alone. Remember that book I showed Jon before he left: if you want to be listened to, learn to talk. If you want to-”

“-talk, learn to listen. If so, you must ask the right question.” he ends up for her. “I know Kyria I read the book.”

She smiled again. She looked proud. It made him snort. Something passed in her eyes, a light he didn’t understand. When she talked again, something in her voice made him listen.

“Then how about this: Someday when you want to understand a person’s motive, play a game.”

“A game?”

She nodded. “assume the worse.”

“What? Why?”

“So you’re not surprised if he does it,” she responded.

The light was back in her eyes. Cold and harsh and shining like the sun on the snow.

“Ask yourself this question often brother: what is the worst reason for this person to say that to me? What is the worst reason for him to do what he does?”

“I don’t see the appeal...” he frowned. “it’ll only make me into a paranoid fool.”

“Or a wise one. I’m not saying you have to bully him into telling him his worse reasons. But… ask yourself that. What is the worst he could do?” she explained.

He understood then.

“It’s like we keep saying. Hope for the best.”

“Prepare for the worst.” she ended up with him.

Kyria hugs him close to her. He couldn’t see her eyes, but the thing in her voice kept his attention sharp.

“And, more important Robb,” she said her voice low against his shoulder. Almost a whisper. “ When you’ll find yourself… tempted, remember one thing."

“What? Tempted?”

She ignored him, gripping his arms more firmly. He almost winces when one of her nails attacked his skin. Her hands were shaking.

“Love is the death of duty,” she said cryptically. “Keep your word brother, and don’t let them hurt you anywhere else than on a battlefield. People come first. Your word comes first. Before anything else. Even you.” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I- please remember that,” she said, frowning at nothing. “I hope I’m wrong and everything will be fine, but in case… remember that.”

“Alright, I’ll try...”

“Don’t try Robb,” she said with this same voice.

He left her soon after that, still confused with her strange behavior. He shouldn’t be surprised. She was often strange after all. That had something to do with her vision he guessed.

But, still…

He didn’t sleep well that night. Or the night after…

He tried his best to take his Father's place, ruling the keep to the best of his ability, ignoring the stupid Prince who seemed to take great pleasure at mocking him.

“Do you even know how to rule a keep Robb Stark?” sneered the annoying prick. “Or are you too stupid to understand even the basics of it?”

A soldier laughed behind him. Robb had to glare the Stark man next to him, to prevent him from reacting. He wasn’t far from doing so himself.

“I know enough not to be bothered by you Prince Joffrey.” he had answered that day.

A little boy like him couldn’t even start to hurt his feelings. He didn’t say it out loud, Kyria’s lessons and his lectures preventing him from angering the heir of the Iron Throne, but he thought it none less.

Besides, one look at the boy’s “training” had put a smile on his face for a good hour.

What a prick.

He didn’t see much of Kyria before their leave. Until the last night. As he was walking back to his chambers in the family wing of the keep, he saw her, at the very end of a corridor, quietly snicking in the night.

Being the comprehensive big brother he was, he followed her.

To his surprise, she went right into the crypt, a single candle slowly burning at the end of her arm. He found her in the middle of the statues, looking silently at the faces forever carved in the stone.

“Kyria?” he asked.

She turned a pair of glossy eyes at him, her lips trembling wih a repressed sob. Robb act on instinct. He caught her into his arms, and start to rock back and forth, one of his hands pushing her face into his neck, as the first sob escaped her.

“Shh, it’s alright Kyria, it’s alright...” he hushed silently.

She didn’t talk. He didn’t ask. But he saw her eyes, following the line of the newest tombs, to space next to it. He could guess easily the train of her thought. But he didn’t talk.

He didn’t have too.

He brought her back to her room after that. Caring her like a child all the way through the family wing. If a couple of drops fell on her hair as he put her under her furs, he could still convince himself it was the snow, melting from his hair.

No one was going to tell him anyway.

As he stood up, Robb exchanges a long look with the giant wolf, silently watching from a corner of the room. Again, he didn’t talk. But a part of him hoped the beast understood him still.

They were smarter than most would think after all.

He didn’t sleep at all that last night… His sisters sob still fresh in his ears. He hated to hear them cry.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Kyria**

Five days after Bran’s... injury, the deal was sealed. They were ready to go. Finally, according to the King. And the Queen. And several members of the court.

And they said the Northmen were barbaric and rude...

The Stark’s belongings were packed in a cart within a couple of servants were installed. The wolves were ready too, obediently closed to their feet, observing the agitation with the attention of hawks on a prey.

Lady Catelyn had already said her goodbyes to her daughters and Kyria took ten good minutes to detach herself from Rickon. She couldn’t say if he was the one who didn’t let go, or if it was her.

A part of her didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay and take care of her family. Of Bran still asleep in his room.

Bran…

No. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t.

She couldn’t let herself think about her brother. The simple thought of Bran alone in his bed, hurt and asleep made her eyes sting. She couldn’t spend all of her time crying about it. As much as she wished she could.

She had Sansa and Arya and Father to think about now. She couldn’t give them up.

Bad things were happening, she could have bet her head on it. Bad things were happening or were about to happen and she didn’t want to leave her sisters vulnerable. What she said to Robb was true on this matter.

But she couldn’t deny it, this wasn’t her main reason.

Since… since Bran, she thought a lot. About what happened, or how she could have done differently… What she concludes from all of it was simple. Having those dreams must be for a reason. This couldn’t be only to show her what was about to happen to her world so she can watch it happen again.

No, no it must mean something else. She had to believe it.

She was more determined than ever now in her quest. She made a mistake with Bran. She thought she could play gods despise the warning her dreams took great care of giving her. She was told she couldn’t prevent Bran’s fall. And when she did, they proved her wrong by doing something even worse to her baby brother. She couldn’t let that happen again.

Her dreams shown her a lot of things. She still didn't understand most of them. But some she does. Like for her Father.

She knew something might happen to him in Kingslanding. Well, in the South in general. What she had to do now was try to prevent it.

She was determinate to save her father, and with him, the rest of her family.

She was scared. Terrified in fact after what happened to Bran, but she couldn’t let things happen without at least trying. Not trying would be like abandoning her family. She couldn’t do that.

So, a strong line on her shoulders, she hugged her mother, then brother. Once in Robb’s embrace, she hesitated.

Just like with Jon, or that night when Robb came to her in her room, her lips moved before her brain.

“We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.” her voice said.

Robb’s grip on her arms tighten, but with one push from her elbow, she freed herself, smiled at him, something tensed mimicking an expression she didn’t feel like producing now. Her own heartbeat was deafening her as she made her way to the cart.

_We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark._

Those words, pronounced by her own voice but unknown to her, haunted her as she took one last look to her Home, it’s towers, the roofs, and the high walls.

The warm feeling of home, always familiar when she looked at it wasn’t enough to appease her this time. Fresh tears made their way to the corner of her eyes. Tears she defended herself to pour. She closed her eyes, and summon her memories. The young face of Rickon, the love in her mother’s eyes, Robb’s heartfelt laugh, Jon’s always sad Smile. The warm yellow eyes of their wolves, together in front of the fire of the great hall. Reunited in a giant pile of fur Rickon loved so much to jump right in.

And Bran...

She thought of everything she could. Gathering it close to her heart. As close as possible.

Everything.

“It’s strange...” said Sansa next to her.

“What?”

“To think I may never come back to this place… Or at least not as a Stark.”

Kyria’s heart squeezed inside her chest. She swallowed back the rock in her throat. She looked at Sansa’s profile, her face lightened by the sun, in an expression so hopeful, Kyria had to bite her lip to hold back her words.

“Let’s go! We aren’t staying here to see your Winter coming Stark!” boomed the King from the top of the file.

Arya’s little hand gripped hers. Kyria tried to smile. The small girl didn’t seem bothered by the forced air on her face.

“What do you think the capital look like?”

“Nothing like home, I suppose.”

Obviously.

“The prince says the Red Keep is the most wonderful place in the world!” pipped Sansa from her spot, next to their Septa. Her eyes were huge and full of light.

She was suspiciously quick in her joy. Was she truly that happy to leave home? To leave Mother, and Rickon and-

To leave?

Kyria's eyes followed Sansa’s look. She found the slim silhouette of the prince. Of course…

“Why is your face so twisted?” asked Arya next to her.

“It’s nothing, Arya.

Nothing...

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The first few days of travel, nothing of importance happened. Kyria spends most of her time with her sisters. Not unlike back home.

Septa Mordane was delighted to bring the three of them out of their homeland, and the barbaric way of life that came with it. Finally, she could mold them in the true ladies she was dreaming of since Kyria’s birth at least.

Arya wasn’t fond of the concept.

Sansa however, was really interested in Septa’s wisdom. It wasn’t hard to guess why. The longing looks she keeps sending to the ladies who accompanied the Queen and her children. They did look elegant with their complicated hairstyles and their soft dresses. They were quite fascinating to look at in a way. She could observe them for hours without understanding how in the seven hells they were able to twist their hair that way and more impressive, to force them to stay that way! While traveling! In a wheelhouse even!

That was magic. This couldn’t be anything else.

She even addressed the subject with her sisters one evening. It didn’t help Sansa’s mood.

“I think your hair looks way better than any of theirs,” said Arya in some kind of conclusion.

Sansa blinked a couple of times, not unlike an owl. Then she blushed a bright scarlet. It was always strange to see her face take such a color, with the red of her hair. But Kyria didn’t mention it. She did have red hair too after all...

“I- Thank you Arya...” she mumbled confusedly.

The little Stark shrugged and they dropped the subject.

Though Kyria did found her sisters quietly talking early the next morning, Sansa thoroughly brushing Arya’s hair, a peaceful expression on her face. She looked like Mother then, and the sight made Kyria miss her home.

It didn’t last of course. A couple of days later, as she was peacefully walking along in the always greener land they discovered, she found Sansa, hidden in Lady’s back, crying her eyes out.

“I don’t get it!” she wept, as Kyria took her in her arms. “Why do they hate me so much! I- I only want to-”

“Shh, it’s alright Sansa, it’s alright.” shushed Kyria, a hand against her sister’s forehead.

“I just want them to love me.” she wept in her neck, her voice broken with despair only known by little children who think their world is ending.

There was this innocence in her eyes, something so pure, so… alien to her sister. Kyria didn’t remember being this innocent in her life. Something else her fall had taken from her she supposed.

“And why would you have to change for that?” had asked back Kyria after long minutes of an endless sob. “you’re perfect as you are Sansa and if they do not like it then it is their loss.”

The girl had blushed at the compliment. It could have been pretty if not for the ugly red around hear eyes, consequences of her weep. The silent hug that Arya gave her made her smile even more. Kyria liked that sight.

She could have liked it even better if she knew from where did that child come from.

She seemed to develop this strange habit to...materialize herself from virtually nowhere.

“Where in the seven hells do you come from?” she asked that day.

“I was… exploring.” shrugged the girl, the perfect image of innocence.

She couldn’t say why, but it made her laugh. Sansa graciously offered them a smile.

It was a beautiful day.

Sansa didn’t leave her sister’s side after that. But she did ignore the giggle of the other ladies with the presence of a queen. Or, at least she tried her best. As the girl was making her way to their Septa, Kyria took notice of the Queen Mother’s long glance at her sister. There was interest in the back of those beautiful green eyes. It raised Kyria’s suspicions immediately.

She could have tried to understand this interest better, if not for the Queen’s Oldest cub.

It took Kyria approximately one hour to forge her opinion on the boy. He was an ass. A royal monstrous pain in the ass. Gargantuan proportions. Oh, how she liked to use that word if only to describe the prick.

Rhm. Anyway.

He was an ass. One like she never saw before. And that was saying something. He was petty, arrogant, spoiled like the worst rotten fruit she ever saw in her life and worst of all, convinced he could do everything he wanted. Because his father was King. Because he was the Crown prince.

Some spiteful part of her brain keeps whispering the need of the boy to learn his History better. After all, the King’s title never protected its owner against death.

Or conspirators.

That was a very dangerous train of thought. She knew it of course. The Queen Mother looked to be a fierce defender of her children. More ravenous than any Kingsguard from the few things Kyria was able to observe. And even so, the Lannister were a powerful family, attached to their own. She wasn’t a fool and knew a lonely little girl couldn’t do a thing against the crown prince without angering his delicate mother, or his glorified Grandfather. The Old Lion himself. Fortunately, no one yet discovered the ability to read minds. As so, she was safe, as long as she didn’t talk it out loud.

It didn’t take long either for the spoiled prince to take notice of their wolves. She saw him looking at them more and more as the days passed.

The boy couldn’t be blamed. The change of environment, the constant movement of the royal party and the weather, warmer and warmer with each day were as many disturbing factors for their faithful companions.

They grew more nervous each day. Staying close to each other, or them, they always seemed on their guards, agitated, almost aggressive to those brave enough to come closer. It was difficult to manage. Tiring too.

Kyria suspected the growing heat around them was the most difficult thing to endure. Their wolves were of the north. Their mother came from behind the wall. And as such, their furs were thick and warm. Perfect for the North.

Not so much for those new lands, they were discovering.

And they were huge.

As so, the Stark daughter’s companions were gathering a lot of attention. From everyone around them. Including the crown prince. There was something here that reminded Kyria of the way a child was looking at a toy. In her mind, Tommen’s story was still fresh and she could guess from the look of almost anger on the boy’s eyes, he had a rather tumultuous relationship with animals.

Or any other living creatures, if she could refer to his relationship with his sworn shield.

The boy was stupid and arrogant, sure of his right and the power his father’s name was holding. A true little shit.

But a little shit with a menacing mother, and an even more menacing family name. That she couldn’t deny.

“Mother loves us very much!” had blushed little prince Tommen one day when the discussion turned on it.

It was a sunny day, and the scene was perfect, all five of them on a soft blanket, talking with animation about anything they could think of. It would have been perfect like many other days could have. But with the little princelings, came the Kingsguard, and more often than not, the Queen mother herself, never far from them, in all her menacing glory.

The look in this woman’s eyes was unfitting for Kyria. There was something… dangerous in her.

“Is she always watching over you?” she had asked distractedly.

The little princess had nodded, hesitantly.

“Very often. Sometimes she leaves us alone with Septa. Or the Kingsguard. She likes to spend all her time with Joffrey thought,”

Somehow, it didn’t help Kyria drop her attention from the boy.

Kyria watched, as they went through the neck, to the green land of her mother’s family. She watched as the boy grew impatient in tandem with the heat of the weather. The less fur they wore, the more annoying he became. Oh, most of the time he seemed just fine, particularly when Sansa wasn’t far from him. But Kyria watched. She saw him snap at his guards, or anyone else. His siblings, the soldiers. His remaining uncle, when the smaller one left them for his discovery of the greatest creation of mankind. Even his horse. That one had been funny to witness.

She watched almost all the time, waiting for something to prove her growing opinion of the boy. Until that day, by the river.

She was enjoying the clear water of the trident, dreaming of rubies hidden into the grass, memories of a battle known of them all. Arya was half convinced to just drop her dress and go swim in the thing in hope to find them when it happened.

“STUPID BEAST!” screamed a quite recognizable voice.

Both sisters exchange a surprised glance, all thought of treasures hunting forgotten in their mind.

“USELESS THING!” screamed the voice again. There was a noise with it. Short harsh. Then a whimper. “You should bow to me! Like everyone else! How dare you resist your better?!”

Another noise followed the voice. Arya looked at Kyria, realization in her eyes.

“Is that the Prince?” she asked.

“I think so...” answered the oldest sister.

Another loud whine soon followed. Kyria’s heart almost stopped. She knew that sound. She held her breath and followed it, praying she was wrong.

_Kill the wolf and get a pet dog for your girl for God's sake Ned!_

Kyria blinked away the voice and walked quicker. Her hand was gripping Arya’s strongly. Maybe too strongly. But she couldn’t help herself. The urge to arrive at the source of the voice was too strong. It felt familiar. But this time, no previous warning was going to stop her. No, no that won’t happen, not in her watch. This time nothing could stop her to act.

“Kyria!” called Arya behind her.

She didn’t turn back. Arya’s hand scratched hers. But the girl didn’t talk again. She didn’t have time.

Right behind a couple of bushes, they found the crown Prince, his shiny sword out of his belt, agitating the thing close to a familiar wolf’s back. The poor thing was backed against a tree, teeth barely showing and tail between her legs. A few drops of blood were falling from one of her flanks.

Kyria saw red.

“LADY!” she screamed.

The wolf whimpered in her direction, her eyes big and shiny. Pleading.

“What do you want? Go away!” snared the boy an ugly grin deforming his face.

“Lady, to me girl.” the smile on her lips was forced, but she still tried her best to reassure the poor creature.

“I said go! Obey your Prince you stupid woman!” squeaked the boy.

But the wolf was already making her way to Kyria, who welcomed her with a scratch behind her ears and a good girl well deserved. The boy was lucky Lady was the softest of all her pack. Not unlike her mistress. No wolf was allowed to hurt a human without their master's permission. They had been raised like that and they knew what to do. However, they were still allowed to defend themselves if needed. In a case like the one she just witnessed, any wolf other than Lady would have ripped the boy out like some peace of paper. For one second, she wished it happened.

“Good girl Lady...” she hushed again.

The sweet she-wolf whined one last time and shyly licked her hand. Kyria felt a little hand grip the back of her skirt, then, and a strong breath behind her. Arya. Kyria looked up again. The prince was raging purple in the face and furious. Then, she thought of the Queen and her devotion to her son. What to do now? The boy was not going to let go that easily. Gods...

“How dare you disobey me?! I am your Prince! I’ll sit on the Iron Throne after my Father! You will pay for that you stupid- northern bitch!”

Her first instinct in this situation would have been to snap back at the boy, and for one second she almost did it. But then, she thought better of it. She thought of the Queen again, and her oaf of a husband. No, she had to be clever. More than him at least.

_Deep breath Kyria, deep breath. Anger is never the solution, don’t lose yourself._

“And what did this poor beast even do to you my prince?” she asked between her teeth.

His face took another shade of red. For an instant, Kyria was certain he might explode. Or inflame himself… Or both.

Now that was something she would have loved to see.

He opened his mouth without a word, before finally finding back his ability to use his tongue.

“I-you The beast attacked me! I defend myself! I would have killed the monster if not for you stupid bitch!”

“Liar!” accused Arya.

With a tug on the girl’s arm, Kyria silenced her. Now was not the time for her to be strong-willed.

“Shut up! I never lie! Your beast is a savage monster who attacked me! I’ll have it killed for it!”

“This can’t be true my Prince,” responded Kyria still as calmly as possible. “Our wolves are trained not to attacked humans if we don’t order them so. Or if they are not defending themselves.”

“Are you accusing me?! How dare you talk-”

“Besides,” she cut him. “Lady is the sweetest of our wolves. She wouldn’t have attacked you. Not unless you hurt her mistress.”

“Enough! You can’t accuse me like that, you filthy northern bitch! You are nothing compared to me!”

Of that, she doubted greatly.

“I’m not accusing anyone, my prince. But if you did try to hurt Lady without any reason, you should watch your back.”

“Are you threatening me?! What are you, stupid? You’ll be killed before dawn! I am the Prince! Better, I’ll have you killed for this!”

“Don’t you dare threaten my sister!” ordered Arya behind her.

Kyria pulled her arm again, shutting her up. If only she could let her deal with this without intervening. Kyria knew she meant well, but she wasn’t helping at all.

“Do not talk to me wolf bitch!” spat the boy.

As if things weren’t bad enough, the boy turned his sword on them, looking between Kyria and Arya. Mechanically, Kyria tried to step back, pulling Arya behind her. But Lady, still frightened, was close to her legs. Too close for her to move correctly.

“I should kill you right here.” he sneered, showing his teeth like the beast he attacked just a moment ago. The glint in his eyes was almost manic.

The tell of the dead cat and her kitten flashed back in Kyria’s mind. It took everything she had not to shiver. By the gods…

Her hand gripped Arya’s arm more firmly. The girl didn’t complain, she buried her hand in Kyria’s bodice. It was trembling. Kyria wasn’t sure it was from fear.

“You could,” she was proud of the even tone of her voice as she agreed. She was in control. “But then, who would prevent the wolves to attack you? They only do it to defend their mistresses,” she repeated, without dropping her gaze.

She was looking right at the prince. His eyes shined still, manic, frantic, almost hungry for something Kyria didn’t dare think about. She had to control her thoughts, and in them, her words. She was stronger than that. She had to be. As to agree with her, Lady pressed her shoulder in the back of Kyria’s knee.

“Those beasts can’t hurt me! I’m the prince!” he shouted. “A prince never fears in front of common people, they should worship him like it’s their place!”

“A crown is just a piece of metal to wolves my Prince. For them you are only a creature of flesh and bones, threatening their mistresses. The blood they are loyal too.”

He opens her mouth, surely to say something else. Before he could, however, another voice interrupted them, cutting the strangling tension that was building up between them.

“What is happening here?” asked Lord Stark from behind them.

If she was not in front of Joffrey, Kyria could have cried. Her shoulders trembled in the need to let go of the tension in them. Father. Nothing could happen now.

“Those Bi-”

“Nothing of importance Father.” cur Kyria, smiling at him.

She had never been that happy to see him.

“Your daughters threatened me!” squeaked the boy.

Ned’s eyes narrowed.

“How so my Prince?” he asked slowly.

“It’s a simple misunderstanding Father,” said Kyria, before the boy prince could continue in his accusations. “Lady may have… frightened our prince a little. But everything is fine now. Is it not my prince?”

Joffrey’s face screamed outrage. He was redder than Kyria even thought possible, his eyes huge and his lips pressed together to a point that she couldn’t see them anymore. Leaving a sickly white line in the middle of this red face. Kyria didn’t care to have upset the boy. She only hoped he didn’t have anything to respond to that. _Leave,_ the thought, _leave..._

Finally, after an endless waiting, Joffrey left them, pulling back his sword in its place on his belt. Even from his back, he looked furious. Kyria gulped.

Her heart didn’t slow down until the boy wasn’t seen anymore. Once he was gone, she kneels in front of the wolf, hushing her slowly while looking at the blood on her fur.

Lady, blessed her gentle heart, didn’t make a sound. Kyria gently stroked her, as she looked at the cuts on her flank. There were several of them, small for the most part but, one, however, was bigger, maybe five or six inches right next to her shoulder. That was going to be difficult to heal. Kyra winced and flatted the soft fur under her hand.

“It’s alright Lady. Good girl.”

“What happened Kyria?” asked Father.

“He hit Lady!” accused Arya with a strong voice. “He attacked her with his sword and then he threatened Kyria! He called her a northern bitch! He said he could kill her too! I hate him, Father! I wish I could kill him!”

“Arya...” started Father.

He looked around surely trying to determine if someone else was around, listening. Kyria did the same, walking a couple of steps around her Father.

“Arya you can’t talk like that.” he scolds her. “Not here. Not while we are in South do you understand me?”

“But-”

“No buts! You could be killed for what you just said. You threatened the crown prince!”

“She didn’t mean it like that Father,” said Kyria while still looking around.

Lady was following her, still escaping a whine from time to time. Slowly, Kyria made a low whistle that resonates in the air a couple of seconds, calling Frost to her.

“Even if you didn’t, Arya, you can’t talk like that around the Prince or the royal family. The Lannister won’t take well for someone to criticize their prince like that. Even a young girl like you.” he explained, voice harsh and quick.

“I don’t care about what they think!”

“Well you should Arya!” cut Kyria, kneeling in front of her sister like a mother her petulant child.

She was pissed, and it was not her place to do that. But by the gods wouldn’t this girl listen!

The girl frowned, clearly unhappy. But she couldn’t keep going like that. This wasn’t North anymore. They needed to be strong. In control.

Kyria took her time to gather her thought, before speaking again. She wanted to be sure what she was about to say would be understood by her wild little sister.

“Do you remember what our conversation, the night of the welcoming feast? About the South and the way things are?”

She nodded slowly.

“That is exactly what I was talking about. You can’t speak your mind here, or act as a wild little wolf as you did back home. Here everything is about appearance, do you understand?”

“That’s stupid!”

“Maybe but it is how it works,” she responded, speaking louder than Arya. “Arya we are not protected here. We are not with our own where the Stark name means more than a healthy family, do you understand? As powerful as the position of Hand is, Father’s only friend in the capital is the King. And everyone keeps saying around us that the King is only king on name. The Lannisters are the ones who rules. Do you understand?”

Arya nodded, eyebrows frowned.

“Do not tempt fate Arya, it’s way too easy to be killed in a land like this.”

“Kyria!” called Ned.

Kyria stopped. She crossed her Father’s hard gaze and shut her mouth. She looked at Arya again. The girl looked pale and slight unease, but not that much bothered by her sister’s words. Kyria could only hope it was enough. She couldn’t let Arya get hurt. She couldn’t.

“Kyria you can’t say things like this,” said Father.

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“Still, it’s not necessary to scare her like that.”

“Masking things does not make them less true,” she said.

“Father? Kyria?”

Sansa’s arrival closed the dialogue. She came with the two other wolves and, at Lady’s sight, immediately asked for an explanation.

“Ask your betrothal.” snared Arya, still pissed.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Joffrey had an… an altercation with Lady. He did this to her.” explained Kyria, while scratching Frost's ears.

He looked delighted by the attention, his tongue rolling out of his mouth. Another whine was heard behind him. Nymeria seemed determined to clean her sister’s wound herself with a long lick to wash out the blood. Lady was sniffing her sister’s ear with some little whines and nip from the tip of her fangs. She knew better than to hurt Nymeria purposely.

“That’s impossible. Lady wouldn’t hurt a fly!” retorted Sansa, bringing back Kyria’s attention on the current discussion.

“Aye, Lady wouldn’t. I can’t say the same about your prince,” she said with a snort.

“Don’t talk like that! Joffrey is the crown prince! He’s my betrothal you can’t speak like that Kyria!”

“Your betrothal had Arya and me at the end of his sword not half an hour ago,” responded Kyria without batting a lash. “Don’t defend him only because you want to live in one of your songs Sansa.”

“It’s not- He’s my prince! I must stay loyal to him!”

“To your blood first Sansa,” said Father. “No matter who you marry, you must stay loyal to your blood and your family first. Do you understand?”

“But, Father, a good lady must be loyal to her husband,” she said blinking her eyes in confusion.

“Sansa, what are your mother’s words?”

“Family, Duty, Honor.” she recited solemnly.

“Aye. And what comes first?” he asked again.

“Family?” she asked.

Ned nodded again and took her daughter cheek in his palm.

“Aye, darling. Family. Do you know what that means?” She shacked her head. “That means Family comes before duty and honor in your mother’s house.”

Sansa nodded.

“Sansa, you must never betray your family. You have only one. Do you understand?”

She nodded again. Ned smiled and kiss her head. Kyria didn’t talk. She felt Arya still next to her.

“Remember darling, life is not like one of your songs. People are not necessarily nice because they seem to be so.”

“Yes, father,” whispered Sansa.

“Go take care of your wolf darling. She needs your attention.”

The girl obeyed dutifully.

They all went back to their tent, all thought of promenades around the river was forgotten. Kyria stayed close to Frost, not unlike her sisters. They had been close to a disaster just then, she knew it. She could swear all the eyes around the place were following them like as many shadows in the dark. Menacing.

This was not over, she thought, the heavy fabric of their tent closing behind her. Far from it.

Her mind went back to Bran automatically. For the first time since that awful day, she allowed herself to think about it. For a little while.

She didn’t know if Bran’s fate had been an unfortunate and awful accident, a message from the gods or something else. But she knew enough about power to see how things could go wrong around here. The Lannister was powerful. The richest family around the Seven Kingdoms. People keep saying around her that it was them who ruled the Seven Kingdoms, not Robert. With the amount of Red surrounding her and the golden shadows she saw all around the party, she was tempted to believe them.

They also said Queen Cersei was ruthless for her children. And she knew from her observations that Cersei Lannister had no love for anyone and anything that was not gold and red. And that she hated the north, with all the contempt she could gather in her beautiful person.

Maybe they had nothing to do with Bran and maybe it was only Kyria’s foolishness. But she was realistic. She knew it was not smart to pull the lion’s tail. Even unintentionally.

She was scared of what just happened with the prince was just that. A foolish girl pulling the lioness’s cub’s tail.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you think?
> 
> I kind of like this in a weird nostalgic way... I mean it's the last time we are going to see the family together in a long time (if ever.. niark) and they are all so sweet and innocent still, even with what happened to Bran!  
> And Bran! Let's talk about him! Did you really think I would save him just to kill him right after? Come on, guys! Bran! Okay, I may not be a fan of what he became in the last season (and let's not talk about this, I don't want to be mean) but it's still Bran, and he's supposed to be one of the most important characters in the show!  
> So he lives. And he still had to become the Three-eyed raven! So, according to my theory (the one I talked about in the last chapter) to do so, he had to lose something. It's not his legs like in the book or show. Not both of them at least. He'll still be able to walk. But barely. It will be very difficult for him and he'll probably suffer his entire life.  
> I'm a monster I know > <, but for me that makes sense. Kyria wanted to prevent him from losing his legs. And technically, she did it. But it has a consequence. See what I mean?
> 
> As for Lady, well, I have plans for her. And Nymeria. So I couldn't let things go the same way they did in the show. Besides, the relationship between Arya and Sansa is different. So are they in a way?  
> You'll see what happen next chapter I suppose ;)  
> I'll try to post it quickly!
> 
> Don't forget to share your opinion on this chapter in the comments and to let me know if you enjoyed this ^^  
> I always appreciate a good critic!
> 
> See you next time!


	10. Chapter 10: The troubles on the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Kyria's confrontation. Oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> There we are, the infamous trial! You are finally going to see where I am going with Lady's fate! I hope you'll enjoy this ^^  
> This is also Kyria's first attempt at politics! And the first real confrontation to the Lannister, and dear Cersei...  
> We also have the joy to see one of our favorite character! And the golden Lion at the end  
> That's a lot of people folks xD

**Chapter 10: The troubles on the road.**

**Year 298 after the Conquest Fourth month to sixth.**

**The King’s Road. Somewhere in the Riverlands.**

**Kyria**

A part of Kyria’s mind had hoped the prince would let go of the incident with Lady. It was foolish and very unlikely, but still, she had hoped. Of course, he didn’t. A smarter man may have though. But again a smarter man wouldn’t have attacked a lady’s pet without reason. However, as she had already discovered, Joffrey Baratheon was not the smartest man in the room. Rarely so at least.

So he went to his mother’s skirt, to cry on his wounded pride. And the Queen Mother reacted. She went to the King.

Kyria had hoped again, as she thought about it before their summon. She had hoped that maybe the King’s clear disinterest for his son and heir would have played in their favor for this time. That maybe he would have ignored the boy and let go of the affair. It wouldn’t have helped the situation for sure, Cersei didn’t seem the kind of woman who gave up that easily, but she was still powerless to the King’s command.

Or so she hoped.

It didn’t happen like that. Somehow, that day, the King listened. Sometime during the evening, right after Kyria and her sisters had taken their meal with their Septa, two Kingsguard entered the tent, escorted by a couple of Stark men.

Kyria’s blood froze on her vein as she looked at them. She didn’t know their names, she hadn’t bothered learning them yet. Maybe she should have. Not knowing who was in front of her only grew her wariness from the armored knights.

Next to her, Arya stilled in her sit, abandoning the embroidery Sansa had been tirelessly trying to teach her that night.

“The King is asking for your my ladies.” said the first one.

“Us?” chipped Sansa with all the innocence she had in her.

She had a lot of it.

The Kingsguard didn’t seem moved by it.

“You,” he said.

No one moved. The one on the right stiffed, impatient.

“ Would you be so kind and accompany us?” he asked, his voice ruffed by his helmet.

He wasn’t asking and Kyria knew it. Just as she knew why he was here.

“And what does the King want with three young girls by this time of the evening?” asked Septa Mordane.

For once, Kyria was glad for this interruption. The Stark men around them seemed uncomfortable. Kyria wished she could ask them to go fetch her father. He was better suited to deal with the situation and the King. But that would sound strange.

Kyria’s eyes fall back on the Kingsguard. On the one on the right to be precise. His hand was carelessly resting against the pommel of his sword. One finger tapping it rhythmically. It wasn’t an offer, no. They were summoned whether they wanted it or not.

She had to take control of the situation. Control was important. She had to show a strong facade, for the small girls next to her, and the sweet wolf who was surely the reason for all this. So Kyria schooled the muscles of her face and nodded prettily.

She had to be smart here. She had to think, she knew that. Time to prove herself that all those praised on her intelligence were deserved.

She agreed to come with them, asking their Septa to excuse them to their Father. She hoped the old lady would be smart enough to do that quickly. Then she grabbed both her sister’s hand and exit the tent. The Kingsguard followed without another word.

“Why would the King want to see us?” asked Arya.

“I don’t know...” responded Sansa batting her eyelashes.

“I’m afraid I do...” mumbled Kyria.

Both of them looked at her but she didn’t say anything else. She had other things to think of than sharpening the minds of her sisters. Like controlling her own and the expressions of her face. Nothing should betray the coolness of her expression. If she lost control of the situation she knew things would go very wrong very quickly.

 _Lady,_ she thought, _think of Lady. You do this for her. And Sansa too. She won’t lose her wolf._

She didn’t know for sure what the Prince might want in retribution of his pride. But whatever that was, Lady would suffer from it. A part of her whispered an execution. But she couldn’t think of that. It was a very likely possibility. For the rest of the world, their wolves were only fancy pets, a caprice from rich, noble, pampered children. But she knew how much they all counted for them. To lose one of them would be devastating.

She couldn’t allow her sweet Sansa to suffer from that. Besides, they were their fiercest protectors. Killing them would leave them, if not defenseless, at least weak. They couldn’t be weak around here.

The travel to the King’s tent wasn’t long, fortunately. The thing was enormous. Like its owner she supposed. It could have held two tents like the one where Kyria and her family slept. And the thing itself was holding three girls, one adult man, three almost grown-up freaking giant wolves and one septa. That counted for something.

Inside of it, everything was red and golden. It was almost blinding. And very disturbing, knowing the King’s House. A couple of yellow and black banners were showed around of course, particularly in the center of the main place, but they were almost lost in the sea of red.

The King sat in the center, on a chair that seemed to be his traveling throne. Or something like that. He was surrounded by a lot of people, a good half of the party, all armored as if ready to war. And in the middle of all that, his family. Of course.

Kyria’s eyes found the Queen first, noticeable in her golden dress, almost shining in her anger. The fire in her eyes burning hot and menacing. One of her paws was on the Crown Prince’s shoulder. He was snaring at them with an expression satisfaction hardly missed by anyone clever enough to look. His blood-red doublet was just as bright as his mother’s dress. They matched. She distractedly wondered if they did it on purpose.

Behind the Queen Mother, the two other royal cubs were looking at her with big eyes. For one second, she thought the found pity in them. It angered her.

She didn’t need that. She was going to protect her sister and Lady. She won’t let the Queen or Prince broke her sweet sister. Not ever.

Finally, Kyria’s eyes found the King. He was as enormous as usual, spread on his throne like a giant bag of soft meat. He looked a bit red, but she wasn’t sure of what. Wine maybe…

Kyria blinked and, reminding her manners, bowed to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. She didn’t bother looking if her sisters did the same. They were smart enough to know how to do so.

“You asked for us your grace?” she said politely.

“You!” accused the prince a finger throw at her with all the rage and indignation of a little boy. Impressive... “You threatened my life you little bitch! You must pay for that!”

Kyria moved slightly, hiding Arya from the accusing finger. And the boy attached to it. Control, she had control.

“Forgive me my prince, but could you explain what you mean by that?” she asked sweetly.

She would have been incredibly proud of herself in any other circumstance. But she couldn’t allow her mind to wander right now. Control.

“Do not mock me!” the prince accused again, “You threatened me with that beast of yours! The bloody thing almost killed me!”

“Shut up boy, let us ask the questions! Then you will fuss all your bloody content!” said the King, shushing the boy with a wave of his hand.

It was like he was trying to scare away a fly. Maybe for him, both things were just as annoying.

Joffrey’s mouth’s close up, shutting itself, almost without his consent. He turned an interesting shade of red but didn’t talk. For enough time to the King to talk again at least.

“My son, foolish boy that he is, says that one of your beasts attacked him,” he announced with more boredom Kyria ever heard in one single sentence.

Why was he even bothering? He looked ready to fall asleep. Was it the alcohol? Was he always half drunk? That would explain it...

“Did he?” asked Kyria. “When? Was it today?”

“You know when it was wolf bitch! You ordered it to kill me!” accused the boy. “You threatened me! Your prince! I should cut your tongue this instant for the affront!”

Kyria hides her hand behind her skirt, so no one could see her white fist. Good gods did she want to punch him. He was threatening her publicly, but it was she who was questioned. Hypocritical fool.

_Do not talk while angry. Deep breath Kyria, deep breath._

“Did I? Why would I do that?” she chooses to ignore the rest of the sentence, for safety more than anything else.

“Because you’re a treacherous bitch! That’s why! A treacherous Northen bitch so jealous of me and my position that you would do anything to erase me! Because you’re nothing compared to me! You know it! I know it! You’re a worthless woman from a worthless country! You and your cursed family!” spat the boy with venom. Kyria had to take a step back to duck the small bit of saliva.

Kyria gritted her teeth. Not only was he insulting her and her family, but the boy was paranoiac. Wonderful. Oh, good gods why couldn’t she just throw an arrow right into the boy and be done with it! Or punch him even! She never punched anyone, but with enough motivation, it shouldn’t be that hard.

No. No, she had to stay calm. Not angry. Not angry. Stay calm.

“I’m sorry my prince but I do not recall menacing you at any point today.”

Technically, it was true. It wasn’t a threat. A warning, however...

“Stop lying, my son saw you command your beast.” said the Queen from behind her son.

Kyria quickly risked a look at the woman. Her eyes seemed to glow with fury. Bright and intense like a green fire burning away the beauty of her face. She seemed ready to murder her. By one of the guards or by herself she couldn’t say for sure. She seemed to want nothing more than to split her with a sword and watch the blood leave her body.

Worst of all, she was certainly capable of such a thing. She knew enough of blood lust to recognize it anywhere. Frost had the same look when he went hunting in the Wolfwood.

As for the King, he snorted loudly, a heavy cup on one of his hands. Where in seven Hells did he found this? He didn’t have this cup one minute before. He buried his nose inside the thing and part of his content fell on his beard. It wasn’t water.

“Those beasts should be killed this instant!” the Queen demanded, her voice strong and loud in the tent.

Several voices around the crowd seemed to agree with her, and Cersei straightened her back, bathing in her people’s approbation. Kyria pressed her fists further behind her skirt.

 _Stay calm_ she thought again.

“Ky-” started Sansa.

She didn’t let her talk.

“I still don’t understand to what event you are referring,” she said, a little louder than necessary. She had to take control of the situation, as much as she could. She had to have the attention of everyone if she wanted to be heard. He needed time. Until Father arrived. “I only wish to understand what I am accused of, my Prince, my Queen.” she embellished each title with a bow, for good measure.

Honestly, Kyria didn’t like all the attention she was gathering in this situation. Everyone was concentrated on her. The crowd, the King, and more importantly, the Queen and her son. She wasn’t worried about the King. He didn’t care about what was happening, and even if he was, the man was Father’s oldest friend. He wouldn’t let anything really bad happen to them. She hoped so at least.

But the Queen and the Prince both seemed determined to have what they wanted.

Currently, Lady’s skin on their bed.

She knew, that having that much attention on her could only mean bad news for her in the future. A future way to close for her liking. She was already in a dangerous place, so far away from the familiar lands of Winterfell. And the just as familiar loyal bannermen of her father.

There was no question of loyalty as she stood accused in front of the Queen.

She had to win this debate. Or at least to gain enough time for Father to come.

Somewhere on the back of her mind, memories of Frost, Nymeria and Lady were succeeding each other. Images and shapes that went back to their first days, when they were nothing more than balls of fur, all fluffy and cuddly and so adorable. Spending their time climbing each other, fighting about anything and everything. Memories of their training, them growing up, learning to hunt, to play, to listen, to obey and trust their human counterpart.

The lazy glint in the back of Frost's eyes the first time he looked at her.

She needed to be smart there. She couldn’t let the Queen kill them. Never.

“We accuse you of trying to hurt my son with your filthy beasts this afternoon by the river!” snared Cersei Lannister with something very close to hatred in her tone.

Kyria couldn’t deny it. She did have an altercation with the prince close to the river. But still… she hoped what she had in mind could help her get the wolves out of the Lannister’s thirst for blood.

Hopefully…

“I apologize my queen but I am not sure what you are referring here. Is this about the discussion we had together earlier this afternoon my Prince?”

She couldn’t deny it, yes. But it didn’t mean she was going to give credit to what Joffrey reported to his mother.

“What discussion? You threatened me! You threatened to send your wolves on me like some kind of savage! You are no better than those beasts! Hunting people with that pack of monsters! You should be grateful people like us did you the honor to give a damn about your pathetic family of boorish Northmen!"

Kyria quickly looked at the King, hoping to have some kind of support from him. But the man was looking deeply at the inside of his cup. It was like he didn’t even hear his son’s comment. It was pointless. She won’t find any support here.

Speak of a King...

“I’m afraid I have still difficulties understanding what you are referring to my prince. I do not remember making any threat to your person.” she almost batted her eyelashes. But it would have been too much.

Maybe...

“Liar!” accused both the mother and the son.

“What is happening here!?” boomed Father’s strong voice behind them.

Oh, thanks to the gods! She could have cried.

“Ned! Come here and take care of those bloody kids!” ordered the King, his face red and exasperated.

His voice sounded watery like he had his mouth full. He didn’t sound like that earlier...Had he drunk since their arrival?

Father put a comforting hand on her shoulder and politely asked the Prince for an explanation.

Joffrey repeated his accusation with just as much hatred and anger as before, and Kyria keeps her mouth shut.

Behind her, Arya, who by some miracle hadn’t opened her mouth almost since the beginning of all this took a step closer. Did she understand the tenuousness of their situation?

Kyria couldn’t say for sure. Maybe she remembered what happened earlier, by the river.

She went back to Father, as the blond boy finally shut his mouth. She hadn’t paid attention to what he had just said, but from the time he took relating the events, she could say for sure he had been lying. It didn’t take that long to explain the previous event.

“I see...” said father after a time. “Well, I don’t recall seeing you injured my prince.”

“W-what?” asked the boy.

He looked taken aback by this. Kyria applauded her father’s thinking. Still, maybe she should have listened. She had no idea how Father came to this question, and it bothered her.

She needed to pay more attention.

“You are saying one of my daughters' wolves attacked you close to the river, on Kyria’s orders if I understand correctly.” resumed Father slowly.

“This filthy beast tried to bite me!” accused the boy. “With no reason! If I hadn’t defended myself against it I could have been hurt! She took me by surprise! Like a coward!” he then sounded smug “ I suppose I shouldn't expect anything more from a stupid girl!”

“By surprise, you say,” repeated Father.

“That’s what I just said!”

“Then I ask again, where have you been hurt?”

“I haven’t been hurt!” denied the boy, looking offended at the idea. “Aren’t you listening?! I defend myself!”

“Did you?”

“What are you deaf!?”

“Watch that filthy mouth of yours boy!” groaned the king.

Oh so now he was defending them? Useless waste of space. Why were they even bothering with this man? And why was he suddenly bothering himself? Didn’t he had a cup to empty?

Or was it because his son insulted his friend?

“Not at all young prince,” answered Father calmly, “I just wanted to be sure of what you were saying.” he took a dramatic pause in his sentence. “You do know my lord that those wolves are trained by my children since they were nothing but pups.”

“Why should we care about how those beast are used by your family?” sneered the Queen.

“Because they are killers.” snapped Kyria before she could stop herself. “The Direwolves are killers before anything else. We trained them to obey us and protect us.”

“That’s only proving our point,” answered Cersei almost triumphantly.

“I think not,” said Kyria. “If one of our wolves had taken Prince Joffrey from behind, to attack him, he wouldn’t be there talking about it. Because they wouldn’t have missed him.”

“So,” said Father, pressing her shoulder. “I would like to understand now how if it is the wolf that attacked you, my prince, you are not injured, while the said wolf is cut on several places,” again, he took a pause. “Besides,” he adds then, “From what I saw, you were the one with a sword, pointed right at my daughters.”

“Is it an accusation Lord Stark?” questioned the Queen her eyes small and shiny.

Her cold voice sends a chill down Kyria’s back. She was almost frightening.

“An ascertainment my Queen. Like the one, I make when I observe the lack of wound on our Prince. So I ask again, where were you injured in the attack?”

Joffrey opened his mouth several times. But nothing came out of it. His face again took a deep red color. He looked like he was being strangled. The vision woke something on the back of Kyria’s mind.

She didn’t bother trying to understand it. She blinked it away.

“Well, boy? Where is it?” asked the King with a booming voice.

It took several minutes for the prince to admit not having been injured.

Lord Stark nodded once and looked at Sansa.

“Go get Lady.”

“Father...” started Kyria.

He silences her with a twist of his hand. Sansa did what she was asked to without any word. Arya and Kyria exchanged a confused glance.

Kyria’s own heart was beating fast in her chest, she didn’t like that. She didn’t like that at all. She didn’t want Lady or any other wolf in the tent with them. Not while they were having this particular discussion.

“Why would you want that beast in here?” grumbled the King.

“It must be punished.” said the Queen with a strong voice. “The beast must be killed for the affront.”

“It was not Lady’s fault! She did nothing wrong! This stu-”

“Arya!” hushed Kyria, pulling the girl close to her.

She had been so quiet since they came here, why did she choose this time to open her mouth? Insulting the prince right now was the worst thing to do. His mother wouldn’t let that pass.

“There is no need of that for now.” ordered the Hand with a strong voice. “I would rather like to prove a point, to your Grace,” he said to the King more than anyone else.

The King snorted loudly, but change his position on his throne-like seat. He seemed interested.

Kyria wasn’t sure if it was a good sign.

Sansa came back a couple of minutes later, cutting the Queen in the middle of her plead about the danger represented by the wolves.

“Lady.” called softly Lord Stark.

The wolf eagerly made her way to her mistress’s father, panting and padding like a puppy would have.

Lord Stark kneel in front of the wolf and turn her so her wounded flank would be visible to everyone.

“This is the result of what happened this afternoon your Grace. Your son made this.”

“So you agree. This beast attacked my boy.” said the Queen with satisfaction.

“Not at all my Queen,” responded Father, imperturbable. “When my daughters came to your son, he was beating the beast. Who didn’t say anything.”

“Lies!”

“Look at her, my prince!” said Ned Stark with a strong voice. “She is twice the size of a normal wolf! If she intended to attack you, she would have killed you before anyone could have come to your rescue.”

“Are you saying Lord Hand, that those beast are dangerous enough to kill anybody if they want to?” snared the Queen.

“We had them since they were pups my queen.” intervened Kyria, taking a step closer. And they dared accused her father to be deaf.“We trained them all their lives. They don’t attack anyone if not threatened.”

“I won’t have a dangerous monster walking in the Red Keep ready to kill us all just for the sake of children.” said the Queen dismissively.

“I beg your pardon my Queen but the Red Keep once hosted beast way more impressive than a direwolf,” said Kyria. “Besides, there is no reason for you to worry. We won’t be threatened in KingsLanding… would we?”

Kyria almost bites her lip. She shouldn’t have said that…

Oh no, she shouldn’t have. The look in the queen's face was so outraged, so angry… She challenged the Queen right in the middle of her court. She won’t take this well...She was supposed to make things right, to be the smart one. She shouldn’t let her temper have the best of her, she knew that! But the occasion had been too great. To confront the queen in her lies, the holes in her speech. It was too much of an occasion.

Maybe she liked it too much… the sensation of being the smartest one in the room…

Stupid Kyria. Pride wouldn’t take her anywhere. Except maybe in trouble. Robb showed it enough when they jousted together, in their parody of a debate they sometimes did during their afternoons at the library of Winterfell. How often did she play with her brother's pride to win one of those…

And now she was making the very same mistake.

Stupid.

“Besides, my Queen,” said Father. “We have proof here that the wolf was injured by your son, but your son still has no wound. Logic makes me conclude that no one seems to have threatened your son. Or if so, it’s his word against my daughter’s. And Kyria never lies.”

“Are you implying my son does?”

“I’m only stating that it is still his word against hers.”

“The little b- girl was there too!” pointed the Prince, his face red and angry.

For the first time, Kyria noticed a similarity between the boy and his father. He had the same skin completion as him when the King was deep in his cups. Huh.

“Oh let them keep the beast and be done with it! I’m tired of this discussion.” ordered the King with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Kyria took a deep breath.

“My love,” intervened the Queen before she could rejoice more. “Surely you don’t want our son to be attacked again by those… beast.”

The King snorted. “And what do you think that beast of a man that serves as his Swornshield is for? Decoration? He’s not pretty enough woman!”

The King laughed at his own joke and ordered them to go back to their tent. Kyria obeyed without a fuss, too scared to see the man change his mind.

As she left the royal tent, she heard the queen and her precious son argue with the King. Her heart missed a beat. She almost lost herself and ran back to the safety of her tent. Before anyone would get the idea to follow them and execute the queen’s wish.

It was over. It was over and they were safe. She throws herself to Frost, relief shaking her hands as she pets the giant wolf with tender care. It was over.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Sansa doing the same with a quiet reverence that set the alarm inside her mind. The girl had been close to losing her friend just then.

Kyria wished she knew what to say to comfort her. To tell her everything was fine, that it was just a big misunderstanding and that nothing was going to happen to Lady.

But she couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth.

Frost nipped her fingers and she resumed her stroking in his massive back, losing herself in his thick fur and the familiar smell of wildness and dirt.

“Kyria...” whispered Sansa. “… did you… did you really attacked the prince by the river?”

“What?” she asked, not certain to have heard right.

What did she just say? Did she really-

“Did you used Lady to attack the Prince back then?” her little sister asked again, her voice stronger.

“Don’t be stupid!” snapped Arya behind her oldest sister. “Of course not.”

“Arya-” started the said sister.

Sansa didn’t let her talk.

“But the Prince said it. He said you attacked him. Because you were jealous. Why would he-”

“He lied!” accused Arya furiously. “He lied like the coward he is! Because he wouldn’t say he was attacking Lady for no reason! He’s a stupid boy and you’re just as stupid if you believe everything he said!”

“I’m not stupid!” protested Sansa outraged by the accusation. “but he’s the Prince! Why would he attack an innocent creature without reason? Princes don’t do that! Prince Joffrey wouldn’t do such a thing! He knows Lady belongs to me! And I’m to be his wife! Husbands wouldn’t do anything to hurt their lady wives, it is their duty to protect them from any harm!”

“So you’d rather think I attacked an innocent boy with no reason using your sweet gentle wolf instead of my Frost, then believe for one second that your perfect match is maybe not so perfect?” said Kyria, her voice slow and quiet. “you’d rather believe a perfect stranger than your sister? A sister you knew all your life?”

Sansa opened her mouth, but nothing came out of it. Many emotions seemed to go through those blue eyes of hers. But Kyria couldn’t understand them. The burning anger at her sister’s words was too big. How could she? How could she do that, say that about her after everything? She may not remember her childhood, but she knew she loved Sansa. Like she did Arya and Robb and everybody else. She went South to protect her sisters. She tried so hard to protect her, to show her the way, to prevent her from suffering disillusionment from the world outside the safety of their ancestral home.

And that was all she got from it? A little girl ready to believe everything coming out of her beloved prince's mouth, above everything else? Common sense, or even family?

Kyria stood up without a word and went further inside the tent. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She couldn’t think about what just happened.

She had believed their numerous discussions had healed Sansa of this endless faith in songs and tales of gallant princes and knights loving fair maidens. They had talked about it, several times.

But it had been pointless.

Just like Bran… she thought bitterly.

No. Not Bran. She couldn’t think about Bran. She’ll break if she did…

Kyria curled in a tight ball on her bed, pressing her eyes close, and waited for sleep to come.

Distantly, she thought she heard Father’s rumbling voice in the tent, along with Sansa’s and Arya’s furious words at some point. But she didn’t try to listen.

She felt tired. So, so tired suddenly. Maybe Robb had been right. Maybe she should have stayed back home…

She felt so tired. Yet she didn’t sleep until very late that night.

When she finally did, she dreamed of an endless meadow of grass and screams chasing her.

In the morning, her moonblood came again.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It took Sansa one full day to gather the courage to talk to Kyria again.

The oldest redhead could feel her eyes following her though. She traveled on horseback that day. She didn’t want to be on the same carriage as her sisters. She wanted to be alone, to think. To digest everything that happened the day before. So much happened…

The day was strange. She could feel numerous eyes following her every step. Heavy and loud in their questions. She wasn’t sure what they wanted from her, but she knew well why they did so. Her confrontation with the queen had not been unnoticed. Just like she feared she had gathered attention upon herself. She didn’t like it. She hated it. Because more attention from other people also meant more attention from the court. And the Queen’s burning gaze.

It wasn’t agreeable to be looked at this much.

Father rode close to her, giving her frequent look all day. Worried ones. He tried to talk. Once.

“Kyria… I heard what happened with Sansa last night-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” she cut him, rather impolitely.

She really didn’t.

“I can understand that. But darling, your sister was very distressed by what happened to Lady. By what might have happened.”

“We took care of that. You and me Father,” she said quickly.

“We did. But she was scared. She tried to understand how this could have happened. She tried to make sense to all of this.”

“There is a sense in all this. She just preferred accusing me of attacking people without reason rather than admitting that her perfect prince may not be so perfect,” she said without looking at him, her word bitter even in her ears.

“I know it was wrong of her to do so...”

“It’s not you who should apologize Father...” she cut again.

Father sighed.

“She’s a child Kyria. As you are may I remind you.”

“Not for much longer Father. I’m ten and five. In less than one year I’ll be off age.” she started. “as for Sansa, it’s long due for us to stop treating her like a fragile little doll. Or she’ll continue acting like that.”

“Kyria-”

“It’s true!” she cut again. She did that a lot today and a part of her wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea to show such a lack of respect to her Lord father. “Father, you and Mother, and Robb, and me too I guess, we are all about wrapping her in fluffy blankets and shade her from any arm, so she can keep her rose-colored glasses on her nose. But it won’t help her. How can she be prepared for the real world if she does not know that there is a real-world?”

Father sighed. But didn’t object.

“Talk to her Kyria. You won’t be able to avoid her for long.”

On that, they both agreed. He didn’t talk again.

That evening, Kyria was enjoying some quiet time, her nose buried in a book when she heard in a corner of the room small feet slowly padding in her direction. Frost moved slightly behind her, and Kyria knew immediately who it was.

Sansa shyly sat on the bottom of the bed, barely touching the furs. Kyria ignored her, decided not to let her get away with all this that easily.

Several minutes passed without a word. Sansa's gaze on her was heavy and pleading, but Kyria didn’t give up. She wasn’t the one who insulted her sister without reason. She was not going to give up.

Finally, the girl opened her mouth.

“Kyria…?” she called softly.

Kyria didn’t answer. She knew this pleading tone. But still, this girl had to learn to think before she opened her mouth.

“Kyria...” she called again, her voice pitiful in her pleading.

Kyria turned a page of her book.

“Kyria please… don’t be mad at me...” she whined.

“And why would I be mad?” asked Kyria coolly.

“I-” hesitated the girl, “ Kyria I don’t want you to be mad at me...”

“And why should I be mad Sansa? Can you only tell me?”

“I- because, because I accused you of… of- Because I believed the prince instead of trusting you.”

“And why did you do that, dear sister?”

“Because… because he’s the prince and- and princes are no liar.”

“Oh are they?” she snapped.

She shut her book close in a loud noise, her anger slightly escaping her. Finally, she looked at her sister. The little girl repressed a recoil at her sister’s burning eyes.

“Are they really?” she repeated. “But if I am not wrong, princes are King, aren’t they? After some time.”

“Y- yes...”

“And I suppose King are also incapable of lying?”

“I-”

“No. Of course not.” mocked Kyria. “Tell me, sister, did you sleep during your history lessons or you just don’t want to hear what doesn’t comply with your perfect idea of the royal family?”

“I- I mean-” she tried.

“No Sansa. You can’t continue like that. I’m not saying it only for me. You have to grow up sister. It’s not because he’s pretty or he’s a prince that he’ll be the perfect picture of courtesy. Look at the past! Look at Aegon IV the unworthy, who almost destroys his own family out of pure lust and wickedness against his son, look at prince Aerion Brightfire and his madness! Princes are not always worthy of their title and being a prince has nothing to do with one’s character!”

“ But they were Targaryen,” protested Sansa, “this had nothing to do with-”

“The family name has nothing to do with this Sansa. Look at the King.” she cut her passionately. “look at how he behaves in front of his queen! Everyone knows about his numerous bastards.” she said. “this is his son we are talking about. This is his son Arya and I found by the river, beating Lady violently. This boy who kills a cat to see what was inside, to see the kitten. Just because he was curious, or angry.”

Sansa blinked at her, her pretty eyes full of tears. Kyria felt her heart squeezed by her sister’s sadness. But she couldn’t just forgive her like that.

“Father warned you, I warned you, that his good look didn’t mean he was good inside. But you’d rather live in your fantasies than to see the truth of his faults, then I am afraid you are doomed.”

Sansa sobbed, her face flushed in tears and sadness. Kyria sighed and rub her face frustratingly.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sansa. But you choose your precious prince instead of your family. Do you understand?”

Sansa nodded, her face hidden in her hands, shoulders shaking with every breath.

Kyria pressed her hands on her book. A part of her still wanted to comfort her little sister, but she felt like she shouldn’t. Sansa, as sweet and innocent as she was, needed to understand the difficulties she might meet in life.

It wasn’t her role, she knew that. She wasn’t supposed to educate her sister like that. But no one else seemed to bother. Not Mother nor Septa Mordane, who both seemed determinate to fill her thirsty little mind of songs and fairy tales, encouraging her desire to live in a world where nothing could ever go wrong.

But Kyria knew, for having experienced it herself with the loss of her memories and more recently, Bran’s fall that things sometimes went wrong. Sansa should know it too.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sansa. But I won’t let you hurt me because you don’t want to see the truth.” she finally said slowly.

Sansa nodded again, sobbing apologies inside her hands.

“I’m sorry Kyria-” she wept in her handkerchief, “ I’m sorry I accused you. I don’t want you to be angry with me. I won’t do it again I swear-”

Finally, Kyria wrapped the poor girl in her arms Sansa gripped the shoulder of her bodice strongly in her fists, sobbing freely in the soft blue cotton of her sister’s dress. Kyria pressed her chin in her sister’s soft hair, slowly stroking the long red locks cascading in her sister’s back.

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, Kyria slowly calming Sansa’s sobs with quiet words and soft caresses on the red little head.

When her tears dried on her cheeks, Sansa apologized again, insisting on looking at Kyria right in the eyes. Later that night, Kyria wondered if it was Sansa’s obvious admiration for her, as her older sister that helped or at least motivated this discussion. She wondered if it was the reason why Sansa felt so guilty for her word of the previous night.

She couldn’t tell. Just as she couldn’t tell if her own words, as hard and cold as they seemed had helped her sister see her life with another spectrum.

Sansa fell asleep on her that night. She didn’t have the heart to call Father and move the girl. So they stayed together.

In the middle of the night, Arya joined them, rolled in a little ball on Kyria’s back, her little fists grasping the tissue of her nightdress.

“Kyria...” she whispered. “The Queen hates you now. I heard her.”

“She did?” asked Kyria slowly.

She fell the little head move on her back.

“She’ll try again. I know she will. She hates Lady. And Nymeria and Frost. She hates them. She wants to take them from us.”

“Aye...” whispered Kyria. “Joffrey do too.”

The little head moved again.

“You won’t let them won’t you?” she asked.

Kyria didn’t answer. She didn’t want to. Let them. But what choice did she had?

What choice indeed… To fight. To fight for them. And for her family. With everything she had, and everything she knew.

She waited years for this, she knew it. She knew that was the reason why she studied so hard.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The party left the day after, obeying their King’s wish to quickly return to the capital. They were back on the road before she could even start to get used to one place.

It was a long way to the capital. Longer than what Kyria ever thought it would be. Longer than it was supposed to be.

The frequent pauses commanded from the Queen didn’t help in the matter. She didn’t seem to support her travel in the great wheelhouse. She was very fond of complaining. But even when all the attention of the court was on her, Kyria could feel those burning green eyes on her back.

They followed her often during those days. The Queen’s, the Prince’s, and others too. Everywhere she went every time. She felt almost paranoid sometimes.

She didn’t like the sensation. In consequence, she took the habit to bring Frost with her everywhere she went.

One of her only amusements those days, was to see the brave Lannister soldier and golden cloaks jump away on their path. On the wolves path. Father’s speech had made an impression on the soldiers. Fear was not good news, but Kyria knew they were able to control their companion’s wildness. As long as nothing wrong happened with them, the Queen had nothing to say against them. Her only defense was that they were dangerous. But with no other proof than the lie of a stupid little prince, there was nothing to do against them. Father wouldn’t let them.

With that in mind, she quite enjoyed the sound of their armor clinking with the abruptness of their movements. The look on their face, a strange mix between awe and fear. The funniest moment was when one of the wolves suddenly showed their teeth in a smile. Frost, in particular, liked to do that often. He seemed as happy as a pup to see the stranger armored men shiver at his smile. Men found him scary. She found him funny. Adorable even. As adorable as she knew he wouldn’t hurt them. Not if she didn’t want it.

“They look like they’re about to piss themselves.” noticed Arya one day.

“Arya!”

“Oh admit it, Sansa, it’s exactly what they look like.” smiled Kyria. The little girl wasn’t wrong.

She found one of the knight looking at her. Her smile grew. She was tempted to tease the poor fool with the impressive mass of her dear friend. But again, it wouldn’t be wise. Her goal was to avoid attention as much as she could. Not to look for it with a show of power and masked threat in the appearance of her dear wolf.

So she dropped her gaze in a quick bow to the knight and pet Frost’s head.

The man visibly gulped, his face pale and his hand tight against the pommel of his sword.

Well… she couldn’t do much against a man’s stupidity...It wasn’t her fault if he was scared of her wolf while he remained as quiet and calm as a dream.

“I don’t understand. How can they be scared of Lady?” asked Sansa later as they walked close to a rather pretty meadow, with flowers and butterflies around them. A dream come true...

“They’re stupid, that’s why,” said Arya with a shrug of her little shoulders. “They’re scared of Nymeria too. And Frost.”

“But Nymeria and Frost are not like Lady.” frowned Sansa.

“How so?”

“Lady is nice! She’s sweet and well behaved,”

“She’s still a giant wolf.”

“Yes but she’s not the same!”

“Sansa, no matter what her character is, for them she is a giant wolf. They don’t want to know anything besides that,” explained Kyria.

Her sister’s frown didn’t ease up.

“That’s stupid.”

Kyria snorted.

“Those men didn’t look like the sharpest knives in the drawer...”

“They’re stupid!” concludes Arya with a confident nod.

“But they are knights...” protested Sansa.

“And so?”

Sansa opened her mouth, but someone cut her.

“Good afternoon ladies.”

The voice sends an ice-cold chill in Kyria’s spin. She knew that voice. Oh, she didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to talk to the man. She couldn’t say why, but she couldn’t stand the man. He didn’t even talk to her before. Nor did she tried. But there was something.

If only she could just ignore that voice and keep on her walk. But she couldn’t. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Sansa already facing the man, ready to bow like the perfect little thing she was. She knew she had to do the same.

Resigned to her fate, Kyria did the same, grabbing a resilient Arya to the task. The girl’s wince couldn’t have been more obvious. But at least, she did it.

“Lord Baelish.” she bowed.

“Lady… Kyria is it?” he asked with an easy smile.

He could have looked charming. He was in a way she presumed. But there was something about it. The way he smiled, the way his eyes shone with a cold light, almost menacing, that put Kyria on edge.

She didn’t like it. Every single part of herself was close to repulsed by him. He made her on her guard.

_Trust me, child…_

“It is my Lord.” she managed to say politely.

The man smiled. Good. Her voice hadn’t betrayed her so. That was good.

“Pardon me, my lady,” he said. He had a strange voice. Close to a whisper, even though he was speaking in an even volume. Like a snake hissing his venom. “I am not used to meet so many young ladies at once.”

“Who are you?” cut Arya abruptly.

“Arya!” chastised Sansa softly.

“What?” she snorted back.

Sansa rolled her eyes. Kyria repressed a smile.

“Arya, this is Lord Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coins in the great Council of Kingslanding.” presented the oldest sister.

“A pleasure young lady.” he bowed with a smile. “people also tend to call me Littlefinger. You might have heard of me that way.”

“Why?” the girl asked back immediately.

Kyria had to gulp to stop herself from laughing. She could feel the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Arya!” protested again the only sensible sister in the pack.

Kyria wanted to be difficult today. Different from the supposedly wise sister. Sue her.

“No, no It’s alright. A little bit of curiosity never hurt.” smiled the man. The hair on Kyria’s arm stood up immediately. Like on the back of an angry cat. “you see, when I was a boy, I was very small and tiny, not unlike you,” he started. Wrong move.

“I’m not tiny!” protested Arya energetically.

“No, indeed you are not.” indulged the man. Every nice thing that seemed to come out of his mouth was twisted by Kyria’s brain. Attacked and twisted with one single question: what did he want?

“Anyway,” he continued, “ because I was so small, and because of the origins of my family, a part of the land called the fingers, some boys in the keep I was frosted on called me Littlefinger. The name stayed as I grew older.”

That made sense… Next to her, Sansa escaped a little “oh” of understanding, flowering back the smile on Kyria’s face. Even if she protested, she was as interested in this story as Arya and Kyria had been.

Sneaky little thing.

The man didn’t seem to mind. He looked again at Arya’s thinking little face and smiled. Again. He smiled a lot. Too much maybe. It didn’t help to ease Kyria’s nerves. Then, those small shiny eyes looked up to Sansa’s pretty features.

“I don’t think I caught your name young lady. Might you be the young lady Sansa? Our dear prince’s betrothal?” guessed the man.

“I am my Lord” chipped Sansa, bowing prettily.

“I see… what a lucky boy, to have such a pretty betrothed.”

The girl blushed. Of course, she did.

“Thank you my lord.” she pipped again. Like a pretty little bird.

“I only speak the truth, my lady. You are the vivid image of your mother at the same age.”

“Am I? Pardon me my lord but how do you know?”

Clever girl.

“I grew up in the Riverlands, with your mother’s family.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

Sansa smiled. She seemed ready to ask more, but Kyria took the opportunity to ask the true question here.

“I beg your pardon my lord, but is there a reason for you to come to us in this fine afternoon?” she said calmly.

Baelish smiled again and looked back at Kyria.

“I couldn’t help but hear you talk earlier. What was it about the knight?”

Nothing your concern…

“Oh, it’s nothing” smiled Kyria, “just some confidence between sisters. Nothing of importance.”

“Ah, of course, well I suppose those discussions don’t need any… masculine presence.”

“No my Lord, not this time,” she said again.

Or any other time if she had something to do with it.

“Well, then I leave you to your conversation.”

He bowed and walked away, the sound of silk moving followed every step.

“He seemed nice,” said Sansa after a time.

“I don’t like him.”

“Me neither.”

“What? Why? He seemed polite and nice! And he knows Mother! They were friends when Mother was my age!”

“That doesn’t make me like him more,” said Arya.

Kyria nodded without a word.

“He… I don’t like the way he talks to us.”

“Why?” asked Sansa.

“It’s not the way he talks Arya. It’s the way he looks at us.”

“What do you mean Kyria?”

Kyria bites her lip and looked back at Sansa.

“I’m not sure.”

The truth was, she didn’t want to think about it. She was scared of what may come to her mind. But she didn’t trust the man as far as she could throw him. That she was sure.

His voice was not the only thing that reminded her of a snake.

“Let’s go back to our tent. Septa Mordane might end up worried if we spend too much time out,” said Kyria with a sigh.

“Why? I like it here!”

“Yes but you know how things work here. We promised Septa not to take too long.”

“Aye… keepin’ our words and all that.”

“Exactly.”

“Try to see the good side of it, Arya. If we make it in time, Septa Mordane won’t have anything to say about it. And she won’t say anything bad to you,” said Sansa with a hopeful smile.

Arya’s frown eased up a little, and Kyria smiled. Again, clever girl.

The Septa didn’t complain. She took a long look at Arya’s dress, humphed and entered the tent without a word.

“Well… she didn’t say anything,” conclude Sansa.

“Why does she hate me so much?” asked Arya with a pout.

“I don’t know...” sighed Kyria.

That bothered her too.

But what could she do? It wasn’t her place to criticize the woman…

“Ignore her Arya,” said Kyria.

What else could she do? She wasn’t here to correct Septa’s character.

“But she’s so nice to me though… I don’t understand.”

“She’s nice to you because you do as she says. Arya doesn’t. And I started to talk back. Admit it, dear sister, you’re her favorite.” said Kyria.

Arya snorted a laugh and Sansa blushed. She didn’t find anything to say to that. And Kyria only smile.

“What are we doing now? I won’t listen to her lessons,” said Arya throwing herself in a pile of fur on a corner of their shared tent.

They end up sharing a bed more often than not these days. Since the incident with Lady. Sansa said it was because of the cold, but somehow, she didn’t believe it. A part of her thought that maybe the South wasn’t so appealing suddenly.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

This trip was endless. She was tired of it. The road that keeps going, longer by the day, the cart that transported them, always moving making her want to throw up. The people around watching, talking. The wolves were always more nervous each day. Maybe it was true, what Old Nan used to say about the Stark of old times and their direwolves. She could feel Frost’s nervousness as if it was her own. As so, she couldn’t tell for the life of her if it was his, or hers.

Whomever it was, it was tiring.

Septa Mordane seemed to be the only one now happy with their travels. Trapped in the cart, they had no other choice than to listen to her tiring lessons. Days after days, she spoke of the south, courtesy, property, and, worst of all, her bloody seven. Kyria had nothing against the new gods truly. But she followed the old gods, her ancestor’s religion. With what she could do… it seemed wrong to follow any other gods. It was legends of the old gods that talked about greenseers. But of course, she couldn’t say that to their dear old Septa. The woman would lock her up to the silent sisters before she could say anything else.

Thanks no thanks.

Even when they didn’t travel along the road, she still couldn’t stand it. The people, the faces looking at her and looking away when Frost was there. The soldiers, Stark and Lannister, and let’s not forget the few Baratheon men who survived gods knew how in the middle of all those lions. Goog gods she was sick of it.

Of all this. Why in all the Seven kingdoms did she ask Father to take him with her?

… Well, she knew why. But still. Why did it have to be her?

…

To be frank she knew that too.

Annoyed, with herself more than anything else, she exited the tent.

“Come on boy,” she called Frost on her way out.

“Where are you going?” called Arya, interrupting her lesson with Sansa.

The redhead girl was determined to help her sister being as skilled with a needle as her. She could still hope Kyria supposed. At least, Arya was not as disgusted as before at the sight of a sewing needle.

But, judging from her frown and the twist of her mouth, this lesson wouldn’t be long now. It was only a matter of minutes.

“I need some air,” she said only.

“Can I go with you?” Arya asked immediately.

Of course, she did.

“Arya, you promised!” protested Sansa immediately.

Ah. A promise. Well, that changed things.

Arya pouted.

“We’ll see about that later,” Kyria said. “I wish to walk alone for a moment.” Frost huffed. “well, alone with Frost.” she adds with a smile.

“Be careful Kyria,” called Sansa as her sister opened the tent.

“Don’t worry sister, I have the best of bodyguards with me.” she smiled with a pet on Frost’s head.

The wolf nudged her hand softly. She smiled and finally left her sisters to their sewing.

Gods were it strange to think that.

Frost snorted next to her.

She smiled and rub his head.

“Are you reading my mind boy?”

He rolls out his tongue, looking at her with something she almost called mischief. She wondered sometimes if he could read her mind. He was good at it at least.

“Where are we going then?” she asked, half expecting the wolf to answer.

He did. With a huff, he took the direction of the forest close to the camp with the determination of a man on a mission. Except he was no man.

She was thinking way too much about this.

They stopped in a small clearing, nestled between to big trees, one of them a familiar white. She had to look twice to get over her surprise. It was pretty rare to see a weirwood that far south. Outside of an actual Godswood with that. Pensively, she lifts a hand against the hard trunk of the tree. He had no faces. That meant he grew up after the Andal’s invasion. It was weird to see a weirwood without a face. It felt wrong. Unnatural almost.

Frost whined. She blinked, turning her attention back on the large beast. He looked at her from his new post on the grassy floor, his tail slowly swinging behind him. He whined again and blinked big sorrowful eyes at her. Right. Cuddling time.

With an amused smile, she cuddled herself against the large flank of her wolf and start to properly take care of him. With stroking on his large back. It was quite tiring in fact. With so much surface to cover, her arms were working. Kyria repressed a yawn and nudged her head against his neck.

“Let’s stay like that for a time,” she said slowly. “I’m feeling tired today.”

She knew she was not going to like her stay in the South. She knew it almost as soon as she decided to go with her father. But she didn’t think it would be that much. That… toxic. She couldn’t call it anything else. The atmosphere around here felt toxic. Like acid trying to eat her skin. Her mind.

There was something wrong with the South and its people. The closer they get from Kingslanding the more she could feel it. She dreaded the capital now. How things might be once there.

She didn’t need her visions to see that coming. They were entering the viper’s nest. Right in the worst that Westeros seemed to have to offer. And they were doing it with a smile on their faces. Like sheep happy to be eaten by wolves.

Excepts they were the wolves.

She slowly dug out pieces of Frost’s Winter fur, dead hair that was falling all around him all the time and was driving Septa Mordane crazy. Frost didn’t protest. He was used to her doing that.

“I’m tired Frost.” she sighed. “I wished… I wished I could just go home and ignore all of this.”

It was so frustrating. When she was home she couldn’t wait to leave, and once she had left, she wanted to go back. What a child. A little girl who couldn’t make her mind.

And to think people were calling her smart. She didn’t feel smart right now.

“Well well well, what have we here. A lost little Stark.” sang a soft voice. “hello there little wolf.”

She already heard that voice somewhere. Kyria looked up. A pair of golden boots was suddenly standing in front of her. Boots attached to equally golden legs. And torso. And… everything it seemed. Everything was golden apparently. And white. There were some touches of white around there. But the gold was far more present.

A golden Lion. Just like her dreams…

“Ser Jaime.” she saluted.

“Lady Kyria.” he purred. “How do you find our trip so far? Does it please your soft sensibilities?”

He was mocking her. Why? Kyria felt her eyes sharpening. What did he want with her?

“My sensibilities have nothing to do with it Ser,” she answered instead of asking her question.

“Oh do they? Then what is bothering you?”

Why would he want to know that?

“A lot of things.” she sighed.

“What? The climate? It’s a change from your snow for sure.”

“It is...” she agreed. “But I could get used to it, after some time.”

The constant stickiness of her skin wasn’t the most agreeable thing for sure, but to feel the sun on her skin had its appeal. That was a nice change. To feel warm outside of the Walls of a keep.

She never actually realized how cold the north could be until she passed the Neck. Some days she missed it.

“Oh, a northern girl who likes the sun?” he smiled. “How strange.”

“I may learn to like it after a time,” she said. “Like every weather I suppose.”

Ser Jaime made a noise, between his lips and took a sit on an old tree stump. He didn’t talk and Frost nips her skirt, so Kyria thought better to take care of the giant puppy than the unknown man.

But the knight didn’t talk. He stayed there, observing her as she was petting her wolf. After some time, Frost grew bored with her attention and promptly put his head in his giant paws for a good nap. She huffed and layed back on him, searching comfort in the strong beat of his massive heart. She wondered, how big the heart of a direwolf might be? If the heigh of a beast had anything to do with the volume of his heart…

But now may not be the time to think about those things. She looked back at the Knight. He still hadn’t moved. His eyes were closed and he seemed to enjoy the heat of the sun on his face. She understood where the entire Kingdoms were coming from when It concerned him. He was pretty. Like a song.

But she knew enough and read enough to understand that being pretty wasn’t a trait of character.

Which led her to the great question. What did he want with her?

“Can I do something for you Ser Jaime?” she finally asked after ten good minutes of silence.

“Mmh?” he said lazily.

“Why do you stay here with me? There must be something you want isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

She waited but he didn’t say anything else. That was annoying. She didn’t like not knowing. What did he want? Why staying here like that? Was she that interesting? Or maybe it was the wolf?

Why would a member of the Kingsguard stay there, next to the daughter of the new Hand of the King?

There must be something. Did his sister send him there? Someone else? Who? Why?

She hated not knowing.

“If you have nothing to say-”

“Am I bothering you Lady Kyria?”

...Seriously?

Of course, he was bothering her, foolish maddening knight. What was his game? Making her feel even more observed than she already was? If so, congratulation on the success!

The nerve of the man… She could understand why her father hated him so much.

“Not knowing why you try to bother me is bothering me, Ser Jaime.”

The knight chuckled, a smile on the corner of his lips.

“Oh really?”

“Ser Jaime if you have nothing to say-” she tried again/

“My sister won’t forget what happened.” he cut her, his voice dropping with seriousness, whispering words in her mind.

_The things I do for love._

_He didn’t intend to die…_

_Burn them all he said. Burn them all_

_This is beyond loyalty…_

She blinked again. He was intimidating like that, with his golden armor and serious green eyes. She thought in this instant, she may finally see the knight behind the mask. The one-

_Dark shadow grips him. Sharp nails. Poisoned voice._

Suddenly, it was like the light was brought in her mind. She understood. Yes. Yes, that what it. The great beast. He was the beast with the shadow. It suddenly made perfect sense, she couldn’t explain it. When she thought back of the dream of the beast, she saw him as clearly as she was seeing the knight in front of her. All golden fur, and piercing eyes. His animalistic face twisting almost to the point of looking like Jaime Lannister.

Another Jaime Lannister. Different than the one in front of her. Something was missing in this one. She couldn’t say what. But there was something.

“Honor...” whispered a voice. It to her a minute to recognize it at her own.

It happened again. She talked without knowing what she was saying. Like someone else was talking through her.

It was strange. She looked at him. Like a spectator observing the conversation. His eyes were sharper than ever before. There. There it was. What was missing? It wasn’t that he didn’t have it in him. It was hidden. Behind the golden armor and white cape. But it was there.

“What?” he asked.

“I wondered… what she was eating from you.”

“What are you talking about?” he grunted with a frown.

“Honour. Yours,” she said, looking at him right in the eye.

He looked stunned. Kyria blinked and regained some kind of control.

“I know your sister don’t like me. I think she doesn’t like anyone in my family,” she said standing up. “I can’t do a thing about it. But I also can’t let her destroy everything I hold dear. I hold our wolves dear. Nothing will arm them as long as I can do something about it.”

The idea of their wolves hurt or killed to please this hateful Queen or her just as a hateful son made her blood boil. But somehow her voice was still calm. Like the flow of a river. Slow, peaceful.

Meaningful.

Jaime Lannister didn’t answer. She sighed. There again. She could feel the words crawling inside her mouth, like with Robb or Jon. She tried to keep them to her. She didn’t need another pair of suspicious eyes.

“What do you mean by my honor?” he ended up asking, his sardonic smile back on his face. “With a Father like yours, you should know I have none of that.”

Oh, gods… Why did he have to tempt her like that? She wanted to restrain herself, to not say the things a part of her mind seemed desperate to say. But gods if he questioned her like that-

The word flew out of her mouth before the could stop them.

“You have some still. But she’s eating it out of you every chance she gets. When you lay with her when you obey her when you love her… She’s eating it. She’ll keep eating it until the day you don’t have anything to offer. Then, you’ll have nothing. She won’t want you when you’ll have nothing. She does not care for broken toys.”

“What are you-”

“Perfection.” she cut. “Perfection is the only thing she wants. But you’re not perfect Ser Jaime. You’re human.”

Ser Jaime blinked. Several times. Kyria drops her gaze self-consciously and Frost nuzzled her cheek.

That was embarrassing.

After several more minutes of awkward silence, Kyria looked at him again. His eyes were looking at nothing, and his face pensive. Kyria would have loved to say something else, to find the right words… maybe to understand what she had just said. But what else could she say after that?

There was nothing.

It was strange. A part of her almost… almost wanted to give him a hand. To help him somehow, or at least to offer him help. Any kind of help. But why would she? She didn’t know the man and he was… well, he was still the Kingslayer. Father hated the man. He wouldn’t let her do anything related to him.

But still, part of her wanted to help.

So she said nothing. She stayed on the floor, with Frost napping around her.

It was stupid. A stupid feeling. Why would she want such a thing? Besides, it was not her business. She had been way too indiscreet already. And noisy. Someday she’ll learn to keep her mouth shut.

But not today.

After some time, she pulls out the book the brought with her and took her reading where she let it. He didn’t leave. He didn’t talk. She didn’t dare look up to see if he was still observing her with his troubled eyes. She had done enough for the day.

She read for maybe an hour. Then, Ser Jaime stood up and arranged his armor. She looked up then. She couldn’t help it. He had this expression again. With the thing missing barely showing in the bottom of those green eyes.

“Be careful little lady,” he said. “My sister won’t forget what happened with your wolf. It’s an insult for her.”

She nodded.

“She doesn’t like insults.”

“Not many do.”

“Yes, but for her… You’ll regret testing her.”

“I hope I won’t.”

She really hoped so.

_Power is power…_

She hoped but somehow didn’t believed it. Her mind was whispering. She had learned to be wary of those whispers. They were never a good thing.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Good? Bad? Awfull?  
> Do not hesitate to share your opinion! I'll try to share the next chapter soon! In a couple of weeks hopefully. But, I'd rather warn you, we are in December, so it may take a few more days before the next update.  
> See ya soon!


	11. Chapter 11: Kingslanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Finally, we are at kingslanding! I know I took my time, sorry ^^'
> 
> But now things are about to take a very VERY serious turn. Some of you were worried concerning the wolves and their potential death. Well, I obviously can't say much about them without revealing my plans but let's say this: i love the wolves. Like Love them. So, of course, I'm going to talk about them a lot and as much as I can!
> 
> That's all I'm going to say about that ^^
> 
> Now the chapter! Well, I'm not really a fan of this one. I changed it a lot so of course, I like it better than what it could have been, but i feel like this could have been even better. I don't know how, but I'm not satisfied with this result.
> 
> I found it's a feeling I have for all the part I planned in Kingslanding. Well in this book at least. It's something that has to happen and I plant a lot of seeds in this part but I don't really like it... Not as much as I liked the part in Winterfell at least xD. But maybe it's because of the characters? I mean I love the Starks and I really enjoyed writing the chapters in Jon's head so there's that...
> 
> Maybe I should write with another point of view? What do you think?
> 
> Would you like to see a chapter with another character's point of view in particular? Tell me! Of course, all the story won't be in Kyria's point of view but for now, I didn't really think about writing with someone else, except in a couple of chapters. What would you like to see?
> 
> As always thank you a lot for reading, commenting and following this story, I really appreciate it and it's always a pleasure to see what you think of my work. I am not a very self-assured person so everything you say is very important to me and comfort me in the idea that what I do isn't completely useless or dumb.
> 
> ANYWAY that's it for the sappy moment for now XD Enjoy this chapter and see you down there!

**CHAPTER 11: Kingslanding**

**Year 298 AC middle of the Sixth Month**

**Kingslanding**

**Kyria**

Two months. Two months. To reach the capital. Two freaking months.

An eternity. A very long very tiring eternity. That damned city couldn't arrive soon enough.

The morning they finally saw the high Towers of the Red Keep, and the great city that lived under, Kyria could have jumped out of this three times damned cart to run all the way through the city, just to finally be freed from this party, and the travel she had to endure for way too long.

The worst in all this was that if not for the queen and her damned pauses they would have arrived way earlier.

She was happy to see the city gates and the large entry that opened to the first horses of their party. The King soon disappeared into the city, surrounded by his Kingsguards and other loyal soldiers.

Loyal to whom, that was the great question.

The hideous wheelhouse of the queen entered the city, followed bit he other Kingsguard who had joined the party after Harrenhall. Kyria's eyes found the white head of Ser Barristan Selmy. Her heart squeezed at the memories of big hopeful eyes, begging her to read the stories of the knights.

She didn't talk with the old commander of the Kingsguard. Seeing him was too painful already. Like a reminder of the mistake she made, and the consequence it had on her family.

"Kyria?" asked Sansa softly from her right.

Kyria blinked and looked at the soft face of her little sister.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, pardon me Sansa but- I thought about Bran," she confessed.

Sansa's face fell. She looked at the land around them, her eyes soft and sad.

Kyria bites her lip, feeling guilty for reminding Sansa of their dear brother, and what happened to this oh so sweet boy.

Sansa put her head against her sister's shoulder, and Kyria let her. From the corner of her eyes, she found Father's, who looked at them with soft eyes. Kyria smiled.

She thought she saw her father respond to it, but, a loud whine from Nymeria stopped her.

"Nymeria?" called Arya worried.

"What is it?" asked Sansa.

The great wolf was shaking his head, soon followed by Lady and Frost who each seemed to fight something.

It took them a minute to understand what the problem was.

The smell.

She should have known truly. With a city as big as Kingslanding, so full of people, how could it be otherwise?

Even more so, now that she thought about it, with the rich and the poor leaving so close to each other. Everyone shit and get dirty. But not everyone can clean it up later. As they passed through the Lion's gate, Kyria wondered how the city was dealing with the… waste of its inhabitants.

Not well apparently, if she could trust the smell.

"That's awful" complained Arya her sleeve against her nose.

"It's the smell of half a million people my girl," said Lord Stark from his horse.

Hm.

"Who would want to leave in a city that smells so bad?" asked Kyria with a frown.

"It's the biggest city in the country! It's where live the King. And the court." said Sansa.

"I wouldn't leave here, even if it means it's the same place then the court."

"I'm afraid Arya that it is what we are about to do," answered Kyria with a smile.

Lord Stark smiled.

"It's true. No matter the smell, we have to get used to this place. This is where we are going to live for at least six moons."

"That long?" whined Arya.

"I don't think we will be able to make the way back home before that. With everything that I might have to deal with," explained Father with a worried frown.

Kyria frowned. Half a year. Somehow she didn't think it was going to be so short. She had a feeling that she couldn't get rid of no matter what, that she was not going to see her home for a very very long time.

She didn't like this idea. It made her regret, even more, her decision to come here. If it wasn't for her family, she might have just given up and asked to be taken back home immediately.

But she had Father, Sansa, and Arya too. She had all of them to think of. Even if she wanted to go back home, she was sure that at least Sansa and Father wouldn't follow. One out of duty, and the other in quest of living the songs she was so fond of.

Kyria had hoped, maybe foolishly, that their argument about Lady and Joffrey on the road would have put some weight in her sister's head. It had. For maybe two days. Then the Queen had shown another wonderful dress and hairstyle and one of her ladies in waiting had done her sister the honor of talking to her. She was lost again then.

Also, now that she was thinking about it, the girl didn't talk about Joffrey anymore. Or at least not the same way she did before.

Maybe all hopes were not lost for her feather-headed sister.

"Oh! Kyria look! The market!" chipped the girl her eyes huge and shiny.

"I see that." smiled Kyria.

"Do you think we will be able to find new fabrics for our dresses? From Lys or Pentos?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure. It's a port." shrugged Kyria.

Arya frowned her little nose at the idea. Lord Stark smiled with indulgence.

"Don't make that face Arya if they have fabric maybe Sansa will be able to sew you a pair of trousers."

The girl's face lights up immediately. Sansa opened a round mouth, looking offended at the idea. Then she closed it, thinking this through. Kyria laughed. Gods did that felt good.

She still had a pleased smile on her face when the cart finally went through the gates of the Red Keep.

She took the time to observe the massive building for the first time, her eyes huge. It was impressive. Higher than anything she ever saw, the stones looked red under the sun. She couldn't say if they were also. It was strange to see.

"Are the stones truly red?" asked Arya curiously next to Sansa.

"Yes, actually," answered Kyria. "A pale red."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe to match the Targaryen sigil." she answered, actually thinking about it. "their colors were black and red after all."

"No one knows everything about the red keep. We only suppose." said lord Father still on his horse.

"But why? It's stupid. Why build a castle if no one knows it completely?" asked Arya.

"Oh there was one person who did," said Kyria slowly.

Both girls looked at her curiously. She briefly found Father's hard gaze. Ah. He didn't want her to talk about the… the bloody history of the building of the red keep. Innocent minds and all that.

Wisely, Kyria kept her mouth shut. It would do her no good to anger her father.

"Who?" asked Arya. "who Kyria?"

"Maegor Targaryen. The third King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"It's Maegor who ended the construction of the Red Keep." remembered Sansa.

Kyria nodded, keeping for herself the other part of this peculiar story. That Maegor organized a great feast at the end of the construction, for the builders and other workers who created his castle. That at the end of this feast, he killed them all, to be the only one who knew about the keep and its many secrets.

Too bloody for young minds she supposed.

"Oh! I can see the gardens from there! Is there a Godswood in the Red keep?" asked Sansa, already forgetting their previous conversation.

She was excited to finally be here. In the place, she dreamed of half her life. Arya tried to look too, and the discussion was forgotten. Kyria looked at Father again. His hard gaze hadn't left her.

"Your readings are… peculiar." he observed. "where did you learn this about the Keep?"

"In the Library," she said simply.

He huffed, a smile curling the corner of one lip.

"Clever girl..." he observed with pride.

Kyria blushed.

Finally, the engine of torture that dared be called a cart stopped, allowing his passengers to jump out of it and finally move their heavy legs. It was a blessing. She immediately joined Frost who was panting loudly. She gently rubs his head.

"I know boy, it stinks." she cooed slowly. "don't worry, you won't have to go in town. You'll stay in the Keep or the gardens. It'll be alright."

Frost huffed, sneezed and licked her face. She laughed.

While she was taking care of her big friend's sensibilities, Lord Stark climbed down from his horse, joining Lord Baelish who seemed to wait for him. They talked a moment, while Kyria showed the wolves the right way through the Keep.

"Maybe we should put some leaches to those beasts?" wondered Septa. "it wouldn't be proper to let them walk freely in such a place."

"No!"

"They are no dogs we can just lock up when it suited us the best Septa. They are our companions. No one will put leaches on them." said Kyria, before Arya could speak her mind in any one of her… illustrated ways.

"This is not the north here young lady!" protested the religious woman.

"And we are not from the south," she answered.

No one was going to put chain on her wolf. Not on her watch.

"Septa." called Lord Stark before she could say anything else. "bring the girl and their wolves to the Tower of the Hand I will join you for the meal."

"Yes my lord," bowed the woman.

Thank you, Father.

Dutifully, the girls followed their Septa, Arya's little hand pressed in Kyria's larger one. Sansa was walking directly next to the woman.

They went through different large corridors, each one heavily decorated. The girls looked around them with large eyes, drinking in everything they could observe.

The place was wonderful. As they made their way to the great wall and the corridors, joined by occasional choruses of "ooh" and "aah" to almost everything they could lead their eyes on.

"Look at the garden! Oh, Kyria look!" called Sansa as they made their way to the stairs leading to the Tower of the Hand.

"They're big..." observed Arya, not that interested by her sister's fuss.

"Yes, yes, of course, they are wonderful. But let's keep going my girls, we'll have all the time to discover the castle and its wonder later. Go on, go on, we are not close to the tower yet," ordered the Septa, pressing them to come with a wave of her hand. "The garden will still be here after your bath."

"A bath? But Father said we were going to eat!" protested Arya.

"Are you saying you're not tempted by a bath? To finally smelling something else than dirt and sweat and horse shit?"

Sansa squeaked.

"Kyria, do not talk like that." protested the girl.

"Why? It's true. How else do you want me to call that? Horse waste? Poop?"

Sansa puffed her cheek red. Arya laughed.

"Maybe a bath is not a good idea.," she confessed.

Kyria snorted.

"Lady too," adds Sansa flatting her wolf's back. "We could certainly make a road with all the dirt on our dresses,"

"Now that's a bit exaggerated. A little mount maybe," said Kyria, shaking her skirt. A large cloud of dust flew around her, very visible with the rays of sunshine.

Frost sneezed again. Shacking his big bead to chase away the nasty dust. Arya giggled.

It took some time to discover the infamous Tower of the Hand. The first thing Kyria thought about it: it was high. Higher than anything she ever climbed in her life.

That explained the endless stairs they had to climb.

Like the rest of the keep, it was beautiful. Full of light and great rooms. The columns were horned with beautiful leaves painted in vivid colors. Kyria took a minute or two admiring it. The windows were wide and larger than any of those back home. They didn't seem to have glass on it. It was more something like an open balcony than a window. Something utterly impossible back home. Not with the snow and the cold of the Winter. But, here, in the south...An advantage to bring in the light. The view of the city, the gardens, and the sea were breathtaking.

Truly breathtaking.

"Kyria! Did you see the balcony?" chipped Sansa, already in there.

"Look! I can see the training yard from here!" called Arya, her little hands grabbing the edge of the guard-rail.

"Ladies, please!" called Septa with impatience.

Sansa blushed and step away from the window, her hands quietly pressed in front of her, but Arya ignored the woman, too busy admiring everything her big eyes could take from the lands above them.

"There are several rooms here my ladies. This way please." said the servant that was accompanied them.

A pretty blond thing, like the majority of the staff around here. She looked pale and stood as far as she could from them without appearing impolite. The wolves certainly.

"Thank you," said Kyria softly.

The girl nodded and turned on her heels, inviting them to follow her step into the corridor.

There were at least ten rooms on this floor. Six different bedrooms, including one for the Hand of the King, recognizable by its width, and five others, slightly smaller. Then there was a large solar, something akin to a dining room, and a small living place in the far end of the corridor, facing the sea. According to the decoration, it must be something for the women. To sew, or draw, or whatever else women were supposed to do in this place. Gossip maybe.

Kyria chooses to occupy the room closest to the main room. To know when they had visitors. She knew her father was never going to include her in his new position, or anything related to politics. Or powerplay. So she had to manage on her own. Knowing when they had visitors could help in this aspect.

She let her sisters and septa choose their new rooms and closed the door behind her. Once alone with Frost, she waited a couple of seconds for the excited talk to go away a little before finally doing what she was dying to do since she left Winterfell.

She promptly collapsed in her bed, in the most unladylike manner she could wield. Finally! A bed! A Real Bed! Not a tent or an excuse of a mattress like the ones she experienced in the few inns they discovered during their travel.

A true blessing for her tired bones. She immediately felt all the tension on her muscle relax, slowly transforming her in a large puddle of gee. She was close to falling asleep when someone knocked on the door.

She may have done just so, for as she let the woman, a handmaiden as golden as the gilding of the wall enter, the sun was higher in the sky than for an average morning.

It was close to midday. And hot.

The girl bowed to her, her eyes nervously stopping on Frost's large body displayed on the cold floor of the room before going back to her. Hm.

"Lady Kyria," her pretty visitor said, "I am asked to take care of you during your stay here my lady. My name is Sara."

Kyria blinked. What? Handmaiden? For her? Why?

"I beg your pardon Sara, but I already have my handmaid," she said back, surprised.

The girl looked up, blinking two big blue eyes back at her. Her thick blond locks waving softly with the movement of her head. Again, a pretty thing.

"But my lady… The Queen requested us to take good care of our guests. You are the daughter of a very important man, you and your sisters must have proper care."

"The Queen?"

Why would she want to gift us with another-

Oh. Could this be… No. Why would she do such a thing?

But… Ser Jaime did warn her after all. The Queen didn't like her. She felt insulted by her. Kyria had dared stand up to her. It was logic for Cersei to be wary of her now. To want to know everything about her whereabouts.

But still… could she send her a spy? In her household? Just because of what happened on the road?

"The Queen send you?" she asked again, her voice slightly cooler.

The girl didn't seem to notice. She nodded happily like it was the best thing ever happening to her. Kyria immediately disliked her for this. Everything about her seemed false. Not at all sincere. Exaggerated.

Kyria sighed. She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all. Not being able to say anything that passed her mind in her private chamber was going to be annoying. But she didn't have a choice. She couldn't in good conscience send the girl back to her Queen. It would be an insult to the woman. And she was already on thin ice with her. She'll have to deal with it.

At least she was the only one the Queen was wary of. Or so she hoped.

"Very well then," she said with another sigh.

"Would you like to change your clothes? Take a bath maybe?"

Sara blinked her big eyes. _Alright then, you want to play nice?_ Thought Kyria. _Let's play nice._

"Yes, very much so." she smiled. "Would you be so kind and fetch for Maerys? She's my handmaiden, and she may have all my things,"

"Of course my lady," bowed the girl.

She disappeared so quickly some may have thought she vanished. Kyria sighed and dropped the cape wrapped around her shoulders. No wonder she was hot wrapped in this thing.

She couldn't go out of her dress on her own, the laces were on the back and way too tight for her to do anything about it. But she did pull off her boots. And her hair. The curls were a bit messy by the time she was done with it, but still, at least she succeeds pulling the pins out of her head. And oh didn't it felt good.

Kyria happily shacked her head, freeing a bit more the wide curls around herself. She chuckled then when part of it fell on her face like a big red curtain.

"Lady Kyria!" squeaked Maerys, appearing at the door, followed soon by a couple of Stark men, all caring her trucks. "Your hair!"

Kyria huffed playfully, pulling over one large lock to show her face again. She found the surprised face of her favorite handmaiden, whose gaze was traveling to her thighs where her hair was puddling softly in a mess of curls.

"What my hair? I'm about to take a bath, the least I could do is pull off all those damned things inside."

"Y-yes but… they look..."

"Like a bird's nest, I know..."

"You have… very long hair Lady Kyria" observed the new girl from behind her. Good gods, they had a smart one. Wonderfull. "Aren't they… too long?"

"I don't think so."

"But surely it must be-"

"I like them just the way they are Sara."

The girl didn't insist. Kyria happily paddled in the cool bath a couple of blond servants had prepared for her and let Maerys's expert fingers work on her head. Then, when her skin was cleaned of the dirt and strong smell of sweat, Sara's little hands applied a funny little lotion, smelling strongly of flowers. Maerys then gave her the dress Kyria had made along their way to the capital, helped with Sansa's expert embroidery and the handmaiden's silent support. It was strange, to have something so light on her. She felt like she would have felt completely naked in this dress if not for her petticoat and corset. But still. It was strange. She wasn't used to the feeling of silk against so much of her skin.

She had been afraid the dress might not fit. Fortunately, Sansa knew what she was doing.

"This is a beautiful dress my lady." complimented one of the nameless blond girls who had helped her dress.

They were far more than her usual dark-haired help.

"Thank you," smiled Kyria.

Another one spoke, freeing Kyria from the uneased feeling that kept finding her each time she looked at a blond head.

"Your father has returned from his reunion, my lady. They await you for dinner."

The girl nodded and make her way to the main room.

Sansa was already there, in a pretty pink dress that matched her pretty cheeks and bright eyes. She looked like a doll. The Septa was next to her, and from the corner of her eyes, Kyria could see Jory Cassel guarding them. He smiled at her. She smiled back, happy to know she could count on him to help and support her father. The gods only knew if he needed it.

"Your dress is very pretty Kyria!" chipped Sansa. "I knew the color would be perfect on you!"

"Thank you, Sansa," the girl blinked, her smile expecting something more. Right… courtesy. "This color suit you well sister. You're a delight,"

"Thank you!"

She looked so pleased no one would have been surprised to see actual flowers coming out of her head. Kyria stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

She knew her sister loved those things. But Kyria never gets the appeal of those meaningless conversations. Who would care at the end of the dress was of one color or the other? People were still going to mock you or find something wrong about you. Especially here, where some were already putting pawns in their household.

But Sansa looked enchanted, radiant as the sun bathed the room. Like she belonged here. A pretty winter rose in the summer sun.

"You are both very pretty my girls."

"Father!" welcomed Sansa, hugging him with enthusiasm.

Father's smile was joyful when his arms closed around his daughter. But there was something tense in the line of his shoulders. Something that hadn't been here earlier. The pin on his chest caught Kyria's eyes before she could question him. The Hand. It was official now. Did he already have trouble with the post? So soon?

"Is everything alright Father?" she asked.

Lord Stark looked at her.

"Yes, yes everything is fine. Don't worry Kyria."

Well… with a face like this, she might do just that.

Or not.

"Where is Arya?" asked Sansa before she could say anything else.

That was a good question...

"In her room for sure. Oh, this girl… I'll go get her." said the Septa with a shake of her veiled head.

Kyria looked at Sansa. The girl shrugged. It wasn't unusual, the little girl had taken this strange habit to disappear from time to time. She always came back and rarely harmed, so Kyria didn't really care. As much as she had been trying to help her sister grow out of her rebellion, she knew she was never going to succeed completely. Arya was still Arya. She'll never be as proper and perfect as Sansa, or even herself.

"What is she doing? She's often away recently..."

"I have no idea… She did it too sometimes at home. But I thought she might stop once away from Winterfell. What could monopolize her attention like that in a place she doesn't know?" asked Kyria, thinking through.

"I have no idea… Maybe she's exploring the tower? Like the liked to do at home in the woods."

Sansa's lip twisted in a pout.

"What?" asked Kyria.

"Nothing it's just..." she sighed. "I wished I could… I don't know discover the keep too. Explore."

"Why wouldn't you? We are here for a long time according to Father. And with your betrothal..."

Sansa smiled. It wasn't as bright as it had been before their trip, and the incident on the road with Lady, but she still liked the idea to be married to Joffrey. It was like she had forgotten the thing. Or didn't want to think about it. Kyria couldn't help but feel like her sister was still attached to her dream of becoming queen.

Kyria didn't know what to say. The situation was... complicated to say it lightly. Kyria knew she wasn't wrong about Joffrey, and her contempt for him. But Sansa… she didn't talk about it.

The young seer could only hope that those dreams were not going to hurt as much as she suspected when the prince crush them.

She knew it was foolish to hope so. But still. She hoped.

What else could she do anyway? She wasn't going to forbid Sansa from dreaming. That would be stupid.

"Oh Kyria, I forgot to tell you,"

"Yes?" she said.

"About Prince Joffrey and the Queen, did you know that back home when I went to see her in the main table she-"

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?"

Both girls jumped out of their skin. What in the seven- Kyria had just the time to turn around, when Septa Mordane appeared, looking furious. She was dragging along an equally furious Arya by the arm, her face red. On the woman's other hand, there was a long shiny stick.

No, not a stick, Kyria realized. A sword. Smaller than anything she ever saw, and somehow familiar...It took her a moment to recognize from where.

"Lord Stark!" snared the religious woman in outrage. "This little monster is- She's unbelievable!"

"Septa Mordane please calm down and explain yourself, what is happening?"

The old woman threw her arm in front of her, pulling Arya with it and put a hand on her chest, catching her breath.

"This little- Lord Stark this can not do! This girl can not continue to behave like some kind of savage in a place like this!"

"I'm not!"

"You are, young lady and you know it perfectly! Oh your poor lady Mother, if she knew-"

"And what did she do Septa?" cut Father his voice stern.

"She stole a sword!"

"No! It's mine! Don't touch it it's my sword!"

"Liar! You are a thief and a liar young lady! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"No! I'm not lying!"

"Alright enough! Both of you!" ordered the Lord with a strong voice.

...Wow. Even if it was not her, Kyria felt chastised. She looked at Sansa, who was looking at her hands. She was not the only one.

They all fell silent. Father's eyes went from Arya's face to Septa's.

"Now, Arya, where did you get that sword?"

"I did not steal it! It's mine!"

"This is not what I am asking you, Arya," said Father. "Where did you get it?"

The girl frowned but didn't answer.

"Arya."

"It's a gift! Someone gave it to me, as a gift."

A gift? Who would-

Oh. No, he wouldn't have… But then maybe he did. It wouldn't have been really surprising if she thought about it.

"Who?"

Arya shut her mouth and crossed her arms against her chest.

"Arya."

"I can't tell."

"Because it's a lie! She stole the sword! Oh, you foolish girl think of the poor knight you stole too! How can he protect us if you take his weapon! What is going on in this head of yours I'll never know!"

"I didn't steal it! It's mine!"

"It's not a sword for a knight Septa."

Three sets of eyes fell on her. Kyria tried to ignore the heat on her cheeks.

"And how do you know this Lady Kyria?"

"I read a book a while ago. Something about the different kinds of swords. This one is not a sword for a Knight. Or any warrior on this side of the narrow sea."

"And what is it?"

"It's a sword for Water dancing," she said, her voice maybe higher than usually. "A kind of fighting style common in one of the free cities. Braavos I think."

As she was talking, Father took the sword from Septa's hand and looked at it carefully.

"This is Mikken work. Arya who gave you this?"

"It was a gift… from someone back home."

"Who Arya?"

"I promise to keep it a secret!"

Father made a noise with the back of his throat. He looked at the sword again, testing its weight in his hands with great attention. Then, to the Septa's outrage, he hands the sword back to Arya.

"Take it," he said.

"Lord Stark!"

"But careful Arya. This is not a toy."

"I know! I'll be careful I promise!" smiled the girl. "I can really keep it?"

"On one condition."

"What?"

"Do you know how to use it?"

"I'm not stupid."

"Lady Arya!"

Sansa hides her mouth in her hand and looked at Kyria. She couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or amusement, but her eyes were shining. Kyria bites her lips. No matter how many times she saw it, it never gets old. She knew she shouldn't, but there was nothing funnier than Septa getting angry at Arya while Father defended her. The expression she made when she tried to control her fury was wonderful. She always took the more interesting colors.

"Do you?"

"Yes! Stick them with the pointy end." she pipped proudly.

Kyria exploded. It just busted out of her chest, like a cracking fire. She dissolved in a puddle of giggles against Sansa's shoulder.

"What? Why are you laughing? It's true!"

"Yes- Yes I know it's just- I think there may be more in swordsmanship than just-" she tried to explain between her laugh.

It wasn't even that fun, but the face she pulled while saying it, was hilarious. At least for her. She had looked so proud. Like she was repeating a lesson well learned. But again, maybe she did.

Father smiled and pat Arya's hair fondly.

"We'll talk again later Arya. Now go put your sword away, your sisters are waiting for us to start their meal."

Arya flew out of the room. Septa looked at her, still unhappy by the conversation, and vaguely excused herself from their meal. Once the woman out of the room, Kyria giggle again, this time with Sansa who seemed more gifted in self-control.

"Will you truly let her keep the sword Father?" she finally asked, wiping a tear from under her eyes.

Good gods, she needed this!

"Yes, if she is careful with it," he responded while sitting in front of Kyria.

"But- She could hurt herself?" worried Sansa.

The oldest smiled.

"I think she could have been hurt for a long time now."

Sansa looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

She bites her lip. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to talk about it with Father in front of her.

The man seemed to have read her mind, as he said:

"Do you know who gives this sword to your sister Kyria?"

...Well, she had been a bit obvious. She needed to learn to keep her mouth shut.

"Well… I don't know it for sure but- I may have a little idea… maybe?"

"Who would do that?" asked Sansa. "Mother would be furious if she knew it."

"Well… I see only one person..."

"Who?"

"Jon." sighed Father. "Of course it's Jon."

"Jon?" repeated the redhead beauty. "But- He left for the Wall last year when could he-"

She didn't end her sentence, her lips forming a little 'o' when she realized what it means.

"If Jon asked her to keep it a secret she could have done so since then. She's stubborn enough for that."

"It's possible," said Father.

Sansa opened her mouth again, but the sound of hurried feet against the floor stopped her. Arya came back into the room with a wide smile on her face. She hugs Father closely for a second before sitting on her chair.

"You'll have to learn how to use this sword, Arya," said Father.

"Will you teach me?"

"I'll find a way."

Arya smiled wider. Nothing could make her lose it that day. Kyria and Sansa exchanged a glance. Now that was interesting.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The iron Throne.

She had wanted to see it almost since she knew she was coming. A part of her couldn't help but feel curious about it. This was the main subject of everyone's desire. Or at least it felt like it. Every nobleman, woman or child wanted to sit on the iron throne in Kingslanding. It was the reason why they lived so close to a city that stank that much. It was the reason why everyone was scheming. For the Power.

And the one who sits in the Iron Throne had this Power.

The Iron Throne. Legendary. The last remaining symbol of the Targaryen's extinguished power and wealth.

A thousand swords of Aegon's enemies, brought to him after his conquest of six of the seven kingdoms to be melted in one single chair. A proof that Westeros had bowed in front of the great Conqueror, and his Dragons. A proof that no one had dared to try to defeat him.

Well, almost. History tended to forget Dorne. Or the North even. Thorren had to bend the knee to save the North after all. Aegon didn't conquer it. No one ever did. Except for the Stark.

The Iron Throne. So many stories talked to it.

Kyria thought about all of then as she stood in front of it. She thought about it, as she heard Septa Mordane's voice explaining to Sansa what was supposed to be her destiny. She had wanted to come with them, out of curiosity more than to hear what their dear Septa had to say about that.

Now that she was looking at it, in the empty Throne room, there was only one thing in her mind.

"What do you think Kyria?" asked Sansa, taking her arm.

Kyria slowly blinked and looked at her sister.

"It's wonderful, isn't it? Impressive also," commented the Septa. "it is said that only a King worthy of the crown can sit on the Throne and leave it without any scratch from the swords. They are all as sharp as the day it was forged."

"Are they?" Kyria asked distractingly.

"I think it quite… intimidating." confessed the sweet girl. "what about you, sister?"

"Boring," she said. "Boring and old."

"Lady Kyria!"

"There is no more than a couple of hundred swords in this. It was said to have been made with the Thousand sword of Aegon's enemies," she said. "A lie apparently."

"Lady Kyria, this is not a thing to say in such a place."

"Why not? Saying it somewhere else wouldn't prevent it to be the truth. The truth is the truth, no matter what."

"Wise words my lady."

The three women turned on their heels, already bowing. In front of them, a small bald man, covered in silks and heavily perfumed. His hands were hidden in his large sleeves and he looked at them with small dark knowing eyes.

"Lord Varys." presented the Septa. "These are Lady Kyria and Sansa Stark, the new Hand's daughters." she then turned to the girls. "ladies, this is Lord Varys, Masters of Whispers in the great Council."

"A pleasure my Lord," said Sansa politely.

Kyria only nodded.

"The pleasure is all mine dear child." smiled the man. " I couldn't help but heard your conversation, about the throne." he then said.

Well, that was surprisingly direct.

"Oh, we were just-"

"Observing a lie."

Kyria felt her cheek flush with embarrassment. Said like that it was quite insulting.

"Oh do not be embarrassed. It is true after all, that the Iron Throne is not really what some might expect it to be. It's always… smaller. Some might think that a thousand sword could be more… intimidating."

"Something like that." agreed Kyria.

The man nodded and looked back at the Throne. Kyria took the time to observe him.

She felt wary. Like with everyone around here truly, but this man. He was the Spider. The one who knew everything about everyone. The master of spies and secrets. She didn't like him. And yet, it was not as with Baelish, who was rubbing her the wrong way.

She needed to be careful.

Somehow, she started to feel like it was going to be a common recurrence.

"I will leave you to your lessons then young ladies." said the man after some time of silent observation. "I'm afraid I just interrupted you."

"Don't worry Lord Varys, we were done here," said Kyria with a smile. "But thank you, for your consideration, regarding our education,"

"Oh it is a pleasure," answered the man, a tingling light in his eyes. "educated young people are the true treasure of the crown,"

Of course…

With one last bow, the man leaves them, slowly fading in the endless corridors. Sansa turned wide eyes to her sister.

"What… why were you saying those things? What were you talking about?"

"Future. Knowledge" enumerates Kyria thoughtfully.

She left there, abandoning a confused Sansa and her Septa in front of the Throne room.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

There were a lot of things to see in the Keep. Inside, outside, in the gardens, even the city itself. Everything was interesting. And wonderful in a way.

The keep was wonderful, so full of life, of thing to do, to discover, to learn, to see...The gardens were wonderful, full of life and large enough for their wolf to properly enjoy the outside air.

Their favorite place, of course, was the Godswood. She had been surprised to discover such a place that far south. There was no weirwood, not like back home. Not even like the one she found on the road. But it was big enough and… somehow, it was enough to feel like the old gods were here.

There was the library, no doubt the best place Kyria ever visited.

If there was one thing she liked more than anything else, it was the Library. She fell in love with this place. So big, so full of books, about so many subjects. Many more than she could ever read in a lifetime. Or two.

There were entire sections designed to each country of the Seven Kingdoms, the legends, the tales… There was one about each one of the free cities of Essos, about the empires that prospered there, the Valyrian, the Ghiscary one, the Dothraki see, Yi ti, Ashai… So many lands she barely knew, so many things she could learn.

It was mind-blowing. She could happily have spent all her life in this place. Buried in those books. She could have spent her life here and be perfectly happy.

Living in the keep wasn't so bad.

It would have been perfect in fact, or at least close to, if not for the rest. The people… The people felt wrong. She could still feel the Queen's eyes following her, observing Sansa when she was walking around in the gardens, eyeing the wolves like a contagious disease. She could still see Joffrey parading in the corridors like a peacock in vibrant red, or gold. Smiling at her sister, with this glint in his eye. One of those we rarely like when we know where to look.

She could see Father, coming back from his day with dark circles around his eyes.

Some days it was easy to forget why she was here. Some days she forgot everything. It was so easy. There were so many things to think of, so many distractions.

Like tourneys. When Father announced the Tourney in his honor, Sansa's excitation had been more than anything she ever saw in the girl. She was so happy, so excited at the mere idea of admiring knight send her straight to heaven. It was her wildest dream.

The thing she wanted more than anything since she knew it was going to happen.

"Oh, Kyria that'll be wonderful! Imagine! Our first tourney ever!" she pipped pulling Kyria's hand with every word.

It almost hurt. Those archery skills were starting to have an effect on her.

"Yes… wonderful..." she answered, more to sue the girl than anything else.

"Aren't you excited?"

"I don't know… I'm not sure about Tourneys… Watch people try to hurt themselves all day..."

She never gets the appeal of it. Watching people fight… well, she did that at home with Jon and Robb when they were training. But they never wanted to hurt the other. Those men in Tourney… some of them died sometimes.

She didn't get the appeal in seeing someone die for glory. Who cared about glory once you're buried under tons of dirt?

All in all, the experience was mixed. It probably would have been better in other circumstances.

The best thing about it was the discovery. Every day was something new. A place, a street, a shop. Of course, she was rarely alone, but good gods if it wasn't wonderful to learn all those things.

"Why are you going outside all the time Kyria?" asked Sansa one day.

"Why not? Don't you want to discover the city?"

The girl frowned.

"It's dangerous outside of the keep. The streets are dirty and- and there is thiefs walking around..."

"Who told you that?"

"The maid… and Septa too,"

"Well yes, but that does not mean we have to stay locked up in the Keep all days," she responded with a shrug of her shoulders.

Sansa nodded. Kyria looked at her, then at the people around them.

"Would you want to come with me?" she asked innocently.

"Me?"

"Yes, you!" she smiled. "We could bring Arya with us if you want. Or go by ourselves."

Sansa hesitated for a second. She bites her lip and looked through the window.

"It won't be dangerous?"

Kyria shacked her head.

"Jory will send men to come with us. And we'll have our wolves! Come on Sansa, you'll like it!"

She accepted. She didn't look enchanted by the idea, but for now, Kyria couldn't ask more. Besides, she didn't like the Queen's always following gaze on her sister. And the hate in her cold green eyes.

They went to their tour the following afternoon. As Kyria expected, there were a lot of things to see in the city. The shops, the grand Sept, and the people, of course. Sansa spends a good hour in one of the shops, her hands buried in colorful silk and fabric. The delight on her face when she looked at her new piece of fabric was priceless.

Along their walk, as Kyria was looking at a slack full of fascinating pieces of iron forged in pretty jewelry, a flash of red caught her eye. She looked up, alert. Next to her, Frost sniffed the air around them curiously. Was that-

"This way my lady," said a man at the end of the street.

There were a couple of men in light armor, shielding other people from curious gazes. They seemed in the middle of a discussion, and Kyria looked at them for a time, curious to see what caught her eye in this picture.

"Is everything alright Kyria?" asked Sansa next to her.

"Yes, I just- I thought I saw something here..."

"What?" she asked, looking in the same direction.

She didn't see a thing, as the men had disappeared in the crowd.

"Nothing..."

She must have dreamed it…

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Sometimes, late in the night, Kyria thought about home. Winterfell, what she left there… Her discussions with Robb. Their plans.

She thought about her purpose on this trip, the reason why she came to this place. It was hard, to think about it. After Bran…

She would have loved for all of it to be a mere coincidence. That Bran fall had nothing to do with… whatever was happening to her. Some times, she could almost convince herself. But then she looked at the tourney coming closer and closer every day, at the King just as drunk and foolish and… whatever else he was she didn't want to think about. She thought about the Queen and the look she gave them, the Prince who seemed to pout in his room most of the time. Or at least when Sansa requested to visit him. Which was not as often as she might have thought…

And most of all, she thought of Father, and the tired face he now showed every day. Dark circles always a bit more dark around his eyes. Day after day.

Even if it wasn't true. Even if everything was just… some hallucinations or nightmares caused by her strange mind or whatever… Something was still happening here. The truth was, she still had no idea how to make things right.

She wanted to talk to her father… but to say what? What could she say?

She knew… well, she thought that something bad was about to happen. To her father, to her family… It didn't matter to whom. What mattered, is the sad thought that it was the only thing she knew.

"I don't know what to do..." she whispered in the night.

She heard a whimper somewhere in the room. Then a wet nose snuggled her cheek. With a breath from her nose, she gently scratched her wolf ears. Thank the gods for Frost. She felt safe with him around.

Some night she couldn't sleep at all, haunted by her own words and actions and visions and possibilities and so many things at the same time.

So many things…

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Kyria?"

She jumped out of her skin.

"Arya!"

The girl giggled.

Kyria tried to ease up her heartbeat. What was wrong with this girl and her unstoppable desire to snick behind their back like some kind of shadow?

"Why do you always do that?"

The girl shrugged, still smiling. She seemed strangely excited.

"I have to show you something!"

"What?"

She bounced on her toes like an excited little bunny.

"It's- Father- He found me a teacher!"

Kyria blinked. What? A teacher? What was that about? Why would Father-

…

Oh.

Ooh...Would he?

Of course, he would… if she could keep the sword he would ask her to learn how to swing it.

"A teacher?" she repeated.

She nodded eagerly.

"What teacher?" asked Sansa, stepping inside Kyria's room wrapped in a pretty blue dress with flowers around the collar.

Somehow, with each day passing, Sansa's dresses seemed to be prettier and prettier. She seemed like a fish in the water around here.

At least she was still enjoying their company.

Kyria was scared of that sometimes. When Sansa had her afternoons with Myrcella, or when she saw the Queen or the Queen's ladies talking to her. She didn't want this place to change what they had. Arya, Sansa and her. And she knew Sansa had dreamed of this place almost all her life.

"A teacher!" said Arya again, her face twisted with meaning.

A meaning Sansa didn't get apparently…

The little girl rolled her eyes with exasperation and grabbed her older sister's hand.

"Come I'll show you!"

"Wh- Arya wait!"

Sansa followed them with quick little steps her face confused. Kyria wasn't much better. She had an idea but...

"Arya, would you take two minutes to explain what is happening here?"

"You'll see! It's amazing! I didn't believe it when Father introduced him to me but he truly is amazing!"

"Who Arya?" asked Sansa. "Your teacher? But what is he teaching you?"

"I didn't like it first. I mean it sounded kind of pointless, but then he tried to teach me things and I felt like I made some progress!"

"Arya stop for a minute and explain!" asked Kyria.

The little girl shacked her head. She looked ready to burst with excitation. It may have been kind of funny if Kyria had any idea of what was happening. Why would a teacher be so exciting? Even one who teaches what Kyria thought he was. She could have taken the time to think about it more seriously of course, but she was too busy trying to follow Arya's steps without falling pathetically on her butt. For someone so small she did have some strength in those arms. And legs. And everything else.

The little girl leads them to a room around the middle of the tower of the Hand. It was a big circular room pretty much empty with large balconies allowing a great view of the city. In the middle of the room was the oddest man Kyria ever saw in her life.

He was small, with heavily curly black hair on the top of his head. A small beard around his mouth and wooden swords on his hands. His skin was darker than anyone she ever met, and his eyes were large and just as dark, heavy with wit and knowledge. He took a second to look at Kyria and Sansa, as a merchant look at a new cow. Kyria felt herself flush under this gaze.

"You are late boy. I said midday," he said finally.

He had a heavy accent that made Kyria blinked several times.

"I brought my sisters," responded Arya proudly.

"As I see..." he said with a nod of his head.

Kyria and Sansa exchanged a glance. So he was a swordmaster… But was it enough for Arya to be excited? Well, of course, she was about to be excited. But… that much?

"And does those boys want to learn too?"

"They could! We learn things together!" said Arya.

"We are no boys!" cut Sansa scandalized.

"And Syrio Forell is no Dancing Master. Does it matter so? You are here to learn how to dance."

"Dance? With wooden swords?"

"Are you from Essos sir?" asked Kyria.

"Syrio Forell was the first sword of Braavos for eight years," he responded proudly. "Now Syrio Forell is here. And he teaches little boys how to dance."

The tip of his wooden sword pointed Arya who beamed at her sisters.

"Father asked him to help me train. To learn how to use Needle properly. I thought you would want to learn too. Like with the bow back home."

"Arya… learning to shoot with a bow is something. Learning to fight with a sword..."Sansa looked at Kyria as if she might help her find a way to end that sentence.

Kyria didn't talk. She wasn't against it. On the contrary. It was a good idea… First sword of Braavos. She knew what it means. Or she thought so. At least she read about it in her book.

"Water dancing. You practice water dancing," she said to the man. Syrio Forell.

Syrio nodded.

"I do. You are a clever boy."

"I read the more gifted water dancer can fight without disturbing the water. So light and graceful it's like they are not even here."

He nodded again, a wide smile on his face. Sansa blinked.

"We could observe your practicing… at least today?" she proposed.

"What?" asked Sansa. "But-"

"It does not mean we are going to practice too. We are sot dressing for anyway. But I'm curious."

Sansa pouted a little but didn't complain anymore. Arya smiled and turned to her master. The man held Kyria's gaze for a moment, a calculating glint in his eyes, then he concentrates on Arya again.

Sansa and Kyria watched them for two hours. Kyria couldn't stop watching them. There was something hypnotic with the way Syrio Forell was moving. Arya, of course, didn't have this level of grace. But she had a good technique already. It did look a lot like a dance. Beautiful, gracious, light and deadly.

Sansa jump next to her when Syrio called it a day. She seemed to be just as fascinated by the experience as Kyria was. She hoped it convinced her to try it.

"So? What do you decide? Do you want to learn how to dance children?" asked Syrio Forell.

Sansa looked unsure, but Kyria didn't have to think about it.

"Why not? It's a beautiful dance."

Syrio smiled. Arya hugged her. It was a good day.

On the morrow, Kyria put on some pants she usually used for preserving her modesty while riding. She took the habit of wearing them under her skirt after the incident with Jon and Robb back in the day. In case something like that happens again. They used to be Robb's and despise her having grown a little since the time he gave them to her, they were still too big. But comfortable enough not to bother her while she'll practice. Or so she hoped.

She followed Arya to her lesson. Syrio Forell didn't seem surprised to see her. He gave her a wooden sword and put her in the right position. The thing was heavy in her hand but she did manage to hold it approximately the right way.

"I couldn't hold it without dropping it the first time. It was too heavy." noticed Arya.

"This child is older. More strength. The target is bigger." observed Syrio.

"The target?"

He nodded.

"When you hold this sword. You are the target. Your opponent will try to hit you. You have to hit first. Water dancing is grace and lightness. But also speed. A water dancer is quicker, more agile, than other dancers. He moves. Constantly. Have you already tried to catch a cat child?"

Kyria shacked her head.

"That is how fast you have to be. If you catch a cat that tries to escape, you are fast enough to be an interesting opponent."

"Only interesting?"

"All things in due time." smiled the man.

Arya giggled.

"You will practice against me first," he announced. "Then the child and I will teach you the moves. But you have to understand how to move against someone first."

Kyria nodded, and the practice begins.

It was… awful. She was awful at it. Like, really awful. She lost count of the times she fell after the twentieth, and Arya must certainly have won a couple of cramps with all the times she laughed at her account.

"Well we certainly have work to do." observed the Braavosi master.

"You think?" snorted Kyria from her post on the floor.

Arya laughed again. But it was another giggle that caught her attention.

"Sansa?"

The girl stopped laughing and blushed furiously. She was dressed in one of her old dresses, something Kyria didn't saw in almost eight-month, way before they left Winterfell.

Sansa looked down at her finger and took a deep breath.

"I thought- maybe I can… I don't know… try too?"

"You want to try?" repeated Arya.

She shrugged shyly.

" I- Well I liked it when we trained with the bow back home, and- And I think this… way of moving is very pretty so I thought..."

"There's nothing wrong with trying something new!" smiled Kyria.

"Well girl, you are welcome," announced Syrio.

Before she could change her mind, Sansa had to a wooden sword in hand. To say she looked awkward with it would be a euphemism. She didn't seem able to swing the sword properly, but she looked determined. For now, that was enough.

The following day, Sansa was back with them. As was Kyria. They soon followed Arya every time she went to her practice. They didn't end up practicing every time, as neither of them was as gifted as their little sister, but they liked to watch her train. She looked brilliant, and more at ease every time.

"She's good at this..." observed Sansa one day.

"Just as good as you with a bow," responded Kyria.

Sansa blushed.

"Maybe..."

Kyria smiled but didn't insist. It was a tough subject, and she knew that. As gifted as Sansa was with it, she didn't like people saying it to her. Sometimes Kyria felt like there were a lot of subjects she couldn't talk with Sansa. Joffrey, the bow… It was tiresome.

But she was willing to shut her mouth if her sister needed it. Besides, it wasn't her place to lecture her on whatever she felt like she needed to. Since her fall, it was the longest time they had without any dispute between them. All three of them were in good terms, and Kyria didn't want to ruin that.

Kingslanding was wonderful, so many things to do, so many things to learn.

So easy to forget everything else...

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you think? Good? Bad? Awful?
> 
> I'm so happy to finally see Syrio! What did you think of my idea of including Kyria and Sansa to those dancing lessons? I didn't really think about it when it happened. I just did it xD The characters kind of took control of the hole thing and before I could do anything Arya was showing her dancing master to her sisters. I kind of like this idea. Like the bow training. It's a way for them to have more options when things will turn badly ( because they will, let's be honest xD)
> 
> What do you think of Kyria in Kingslanding? I hope I didn't disappointed you in there. I really wanted to show that despite her intentions ot protect her family, she didn't has any idea how to do that and she's not very active in her search of a way. Bran being hurt despise her intervention kind of hit her hard. And so she does not want to try again and take the risk of things being even worse.
> 
> I'm not sure I made that clear in the chapter... It's a complicated thing, to translate the confused thought of a teenage girl trying to save her family while dealing with her own tendency to drama. Because yes, Kyria is dramatic as fuck XD
> 
> I never wanted to shade her in some kind of perfect girl who does everything right and has no default. SO I try to make her as human as possible with all kinds of faults and mistakes and stupid things to do, think or try. I don't know if it's really... well efficient.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway. Do not hesitate to share your opinion with me I always appreciate it! 
> 
> See ya next time!


	12. Chapter 12: The Black Bird on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things happened since he left Winterfell.   
> And many things are still happening...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys!  
> I know it's been a while! I took a little bit more time than before for this chapter for a very simple reason. I added it very recently! In fact, I made a lot of changes in the story since I started publishing it (as the most attentive of you may have noticed, with the final number of chapter changing every time I publish another one xD) and the reason is pretty simple: when I first started writing this story, I something similar to a storyboard. I resumed all of my chapters with little textes where I would put every idea I wanted in every chapter. Very useful to help me keeping track of what I want to do. Especially later when things will happen everywhere in   
> Westeros at the same time xD.  
> The problem is, to resume an idea in a single sentence is a very different thing than to develop the said idea in a story! So when I started writing I realized my chapters were wayyyy too long ( and that's saying something coming from me as all of my chapters are 20 pages long at least!) or had way too many events happening at the same time! I hadn't the time to really build my story into something coherent and at least a bit believable. Which is essential with a story about an OC.   
> So I had to cut some chapters in two, and to add chapters so I had more time to build my version of the Westerosi universe!  
> Now the number of chapters will maybe change again once or twice, but I don't think it will be more than 22 or 23 chapters max!
> 
> Now to this chapter in particular!  
> My original plan was to have one single chapter at the very end of this book that would explain everything that happened on the Wall for Jon. Everything that I changed in fact. But upon checking my plans, I realized -again xD- that a single chapter for Jon was too short. I mean, he spends ONE YEAR on the Wall! ONE YEAR! Even if things don't change that much, there are still changes! And I need to explain that! So I thought I would put it here, right before the... main part of the Kingslanding arc of this story, so we could catch up with our favorite crow!
> 
> Now one last thing before we begin! IMPORTANT! I said in the first chapter that the event at the Wall would happen ONE Year before the rest of the storyline.  
> Well, I lied xD. It's just the thing with the deserter that Ned behead that happens one year before. The rest will happen pretty much at the same time as the rest of the season 1 events. Which means that Jon will still go beyond the Wall at the end with the Lord Commander and the rest to investigate about the White Walkers.  
> The main difference would be that Jon is there longer before that. Which, all in all, will change some things for him. But you'll see that very soon ;)
> 
> So, anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, and dear Jon, and if you have any questions or comment, don't hesitate to share them!

**Chapter 1 2: The black bird on the Wall. **

**Year 297 Sixth month to Year 298 eighth month after the Conquest.**

**Castle Black.**

**Jon.**

It was strange, to call himself a Brother of the Nights Watch. Sometimes, on the deep of the night, in the middle of his bed, with Ghost’s red eyes shining in the dark, he wondered how he did it. The darkest part of him would have bet on his death the first week. Or days. Or hours.

It depended on his mood really.

He has never been threatened. Not really. Or, well, not physically at least. But good gods had he been hated back then.

He could still picture it like it was yesterday. Sometimes in the cold of the night, he confessed silently that his first days in Castle Black were clearer than his last days at Winterfell. Winterfell was like a dream floating on the back of his mind. A dream of warms and softness and love. Of Rickon’s bright smile and Arya’s laugh. Of Bran’s clever eyes and Robb’s shadow. Of Father’s strong hand on his back and Kyria’s voice, that seemed to haunt him even more than the rest. The words and the advises engraved in his mind. 

But all of them, all of what used to be his life had faded when his eyes found the Wall for the first time. How small he had felt then, compare to the magnificence of the greatest creation ever built by men. Or any other kind of creature as far as he knew. And that included the Giants who he had been something thousand of years ago. He remembered Uncle Benjen’s warm hand on his shoulder as he was gathering his thought, his own hands trembling on the rein of his horse.

“ _Impressive isn’t it?” had asked Benjen slowly._

He had only nodded, not trusting his voice to express what he wasn’t even able to think clearly. There were so many things he could have said. So many things he wasn’t even thinking. But when it came to talking, nothing came.

_Talk Jon for gods sake! How do you expect us to understand you if you never talk?_

Kyria’s words and tone were constant companions to him. No doubt she would be pleased with that. Even miles and miles away, she was scolding him like a little boy. It was impressive in its way. To have a sister so bossy and insisting, that even miles apart she could bother him.

“ _It’s… wonderful.” he had babbled awkwardly._

“ _Aye, it is. Impressive and wonderful. You’ll learn to hate it soon enough lad.” had said the man behind them, a recruiter for the Watch._

Yoren he was called, also Jon only learned that later. A good man, with a loud mouth and even louder humor. Jon liked him. He wasn’t often at the Wall though.

He had joined them with three skinny lads, all dirty and grumpy. A couple of thieves and a rapist that had chosen the Wall over any other punishment.

None of the boys had talked to him at first. The four of them had been as awkward as young men ready to dedicate their life to a thousand years old order could be. But then, Kyria’s voice had rung in his head again, and he had opened his mouth, just to shut her up.

Sometimes he worried about his sanity…

“ _I’m Jon.” he had said softly one night, while they were all resting, the wall imposing on Jon’s back._

_The three of them had looked at him owlishly, slowly blinking. Jon felt his face flush, but the stubborn part of him had insisted on looking at them._

_No matter where they came from, those boys would be his brothers one day. He couldn’t just sulk in a corner and wait for the best to happen. He wasn’t just the Bastard of Winterfell anymore._

“ _I’m Tehn.” had answered one of the thieves._

_A skinny lad, with sandy blond hair, thin and rat-tail looking, lowering around his long face like they were caring all the misery of the world._

_The other two have stayed silent. But Jon still had considered it a victory. He and Tehn had talked a bit that night. Nothing much, really, but it was more than what Jon would have done without his annoying sister’s voice in his head._

Arriving at Castle Black had been completely different than seeing the Wall for the first time.

All those books Kyria had forced him to read had kind of reaped off the idealistic image of the Wall Jon had to build within the years and Uncle Benjen’s stories. But he hadn’t expected that.

Castle Black was a ruin. A hundred men, maybe even less were all that was left from this order, as Ancient as the Wall itself and Jon’s Family. Eight thousand years and that was what was left.

A handful of half-starved half iced men, a couple of buildings, standing by Will alone and a couple of rotting woods column. An old Maester blind and weak, and a Lord Commander, who looked stronger than all the watch reunited. An oddity in the weak thing that was supposed to guard the realm of men.

It had been hard. A very harsh wake-up call. In the first few weeks, Jon hadn’t taken this well. To realize that literally, everyone around him knew what he was sailing too, and no one took the time to tell him. Not his Father, not Uncle Benjen… He even wondered if Kyria knew too.

He preferred to believe that she hadn’t known, and would have told him if she was. His sister’s words in his mind had been the only thing that kept him going those first days. Stopping believing them would have broken his resolve.

No doubt that without her, this annoying voice in his head, he would have run straight back in Winterfell, his tail between his legs and everything else. Humiliation be damned.

But he had remembered her words whispered against his ears in their last embrace. Those were as clear in his mind like the shadow of the Wall above him. No matter how blurry the rest of it became with the moons passing.

_You, Jon Snow, will always be more than they’ll ever think. We will see each other again someday. I know it._

He could hear it. Sometimes so loud it woke him up at night. It haunted him. Sometimes he hated it. When all he could feel was the cold and the loneliness of this life. This life that even though he chose it, was still his punishment for being born as he was. For what other reason his Father would have hidden the truth about this place.

_You are worth a hundred bastard of the North_.

He still didn’t understand what she meant by that.

How could someone like him be worth of a hundred bastard? Being of the North or of any other Kingdom for what it was worth.

He was nothing else than a bastard with half of his blood coming from a good family. He knew enough of life as a bastard now after close to seventeen years of life to say that being a highborn bastard didn't matter much more than being a lowborn one.

He had still been born on the wrong side of the sheet like people loved to remind him. Worse even, he was his Father's only mistake. The dirty spot on his unmovable honor.

With all that, how could he be better than any other bastard?

He didn't understand it. How could he? With something like Kyria's last word who couldn't have been more cryptic even if she tried to make them sound so, how could he understand any of this?

He resented her for that. As much as he loved his family, he resented Kyria for spitting those words to him like that just before he had to leave maybe forever the only place and the only person he could hope to have answers from...

But, as much as he hated those words, and as much as he hated the long hours he spent thinking about it, it ha helped him somehow. He liked to believe that someone believed in him. Even so far from him. 

He had taken strength in this, and in all those afternoons in the library, where she made him swallow book after book with a determination that would have put a Maester to shame.

He tried to use what she had made him learn. As much as he could. But fighting his brooding nature and inconvenient shyness was a work of every instant. And something he hadn’t been sure he wanted to accomplish at the time.

In the first weeks, he refused to even try. He felt betrayed. He didn’t want to blend into this new environment and with those peoples, pathetic as they were. He didn't want any part in this mockery of his childhood dreams of great honor and glory in brotherhood as old as their world was. Or just so. The welcome he received from Alliser Throne hadn’t help.

How could his Father send him in such a place? How could he not warn him of the hardship of the Watch, the dishonor of this brotherhood in downfall? How could he condemn him in such a life?

His disgust ate him for many days, accentuating his natural melancholic disposition.

Without Uncle Benjen he would have continued in this path until it would have been too late for him to integrate himself in the dynamic of the Watch.

Fortunately, Uncle Benjen hadn’t let that happen.

“ _Stop that.” he had said one day._

“ _What?” has asked Jon._

_Both of them were on the Wall. Jon had found a secluded place to brood peacefully on the unfairness of his life._

“ _I know this place is not what you expected. I can understand your disappointment, but honestly Jon what did you expect?”_

“ _Something else.” he had said somberly._

“ _Aye maybe. But it is what it is. You can still leave Jon. No one is forcing you to stay here.”_

“ _I’m not a deserter.”_

“ _You’re not a man of the Night’s Watch Jon. Not yet. You can leave and make a life of your own elsewhere.” had said Uncle Benjen before Jon could continue. “But if you chose to stay. You become part of this place. Do you understand me? You won’t survive long here alone. And I won’t be with you all the time, holding your hand like a little boy. You’re a man Jon. And I’m not your nanny. If you want to have a place here, then start earning that place. Do you understand? You stay and you become a man or leave. If this is glory you want, you can find it elsewhere.”_

He had been furious then. To say such a thing. Like he was some coward or something else just as disgraceful. A pampered Lord from a warm castle, ready to flee at the first sign of unpleasantness. He was no coward!

But then he had understood.

Uncle Benjen was pushing him. It didn’t matter what direction he wanted to take, he only had to choose one. Leave or stay.

He stayed.

After these days, he started following his sister’s advice. He tried to stop mop and complain in a corner like he did all the time. She said he had to build his own story. So that's what he tried to do. He found Tehn again and the boy became the first friend he made here.

He learned that those endless discussions back home had their usefulness, and that asking questions, while never a good thing in the presence of Lady Catelyn, had actually helped him here.

There, he learned that Tehn had been accused of rape by the daughter of a merchant he had refused to sleep with. One of those men rich enough to think themselves, lords. Or something close to it. As he was an orphan from the village, no one had tried to hear his version, and he had been sentenced to the Wall.

When he had started asking questions to other people, he soon learned that it was harder to judge when you knew the story behind the man. For some of them.

In his earlier weeks, he learned about one of the Rangers, a middle-aged man whose wife left him one day, without an explanation. The farm he lived in belonged to his father in law, and without his daughter, the old men had refused to let him stay. Not knowing what else to do, he came to the Wall.

The man would have been interesting to know if he hadn’t disappeared beyond the wall a couple of days later.

Another lesson Jon learned that day.

Not all of them were like Tehn or this man of course. But a couple of the Men of the Watch had heartbreaking stories, like this one, Kevlar, who lost his entire family to a raid of Iron born during the Rebellion of Ballon Greyjoy. His wife and kids were raped and killed as well as his mother and younger sister. When the war ended, he had no one left. Not knowing what else to do, he came to the Wall, to find some usefulness.

Jon had been surprised by the number of people who came to the Wall because they didn’t know what else to do. Sometimes, he wondered if he wasn’t one of them.

And then, there was Edd.

He didn’t talk much about himself, but gods do he liked to complain. About everyone and everything. Edd was surprisingly easy to like, for a grumpy, skinny guy like him.

He befriends a couple of other brothers, but nothing like Tehn and Edd. Tehn in particular had been one good support for Jon. As they came to the Wall at the same time, they were trained together. It was easier to befriend someone this way, as Jon knew already. It was the same way that brought Theon and Robb’s friendship. Besides Father had said that one could find his true friends on the Battlefield. The training Yard was a practice for the battlefield.

With Tehn and Edd and them Kevar later, it became easier, to be there. He was not alone anymore.

When he swore his vow, he was alone. Out of the recruits, he was the only one worshiping the old gods. Uncle Benjen had insisted to be there with him. His presence, warm on his back felt welcoming, as he stood up again, the words still resonating on his head.

_For this night and all my nights to come..._

He had smiled at him, something warm and incredibly sad on his face. Jon had smiled too, not sure how he was supposed to take this expression. Not sure how he felt about all of this.

Some part of him wanted to weep then. He couldn’t say why for sure, but he felt like he lost something that day. As he stood in front of his uncle, solemn and silent, his mind went back to the old Maester Aemon, and the story he shared with Jon the day before.

Aemon Targaryen.

Truly, he hadn’t need to say anything else. Everyone knew what happened to the Targaryen. Jon more than others. His father had helped chase the family away from Westeros. Or at least what was left of them.

As soon as he had said his name, Jon had known what to expect. But still, hearing it from his old voice. Trembling with emotion, grief, pain, as he narrated the death of his family, his great-nephew, the children, his situation, as an old useless man. Unable to protect the family he renounced years and years ago…

It shacked something deep within Jon. A sensible cord he didn’t know he had. A deep part of him, a place where he hides the little boy he once was. That little boy crying for a mother he’ll never know, begging for answers, for affection, for love. For proof, he was important to someone. A proof he wasn’t just a bastard.

That very same part of him who was still attached to the life he had, with his siblings back home. The part he knew would break if anything had to happen to them. The same part that kept him awake for nights and nights after the old Maester’s story, terrified that such a thing may happen to his family.

Maybe that was why. Maybe this was the reason why he felt like crying the day he pronounced his vows.

It didn’t matter. He did it. It was done, he was a Brother of the Night’s Watch.

Then, came the moment of his assignment.

In such a few words, Jon’s world crumbled again in a spiral of indignation disgust and utter frustration for the fate that was assigned to him. Anger burned hotter than ever before in his mind when the Lord Commander said that word behind his name.

Stewart.

Him. A Stewart. Out of the ten boys that swore their vow, he had been the most skilled with a sword He had spend his first month training them, just like Ser Rodrick was training him back home.

And despite all this, he was a Stewart. The Lord Commander Stewart maybe but still a Stewart. A servant.

The first days had been really hard for him to bear. He couldn’t train on the yard anymore and had to serve the Lord Commander, serve him his meals, his ale, cleans his room, his office, arrange his letters.

Everything. He was a servant. A servant, just good enough to milk cows and stitch socks.

He had been revolted. If he could then, certainly would he have left then?

But honor had defended it. He couldn’t leave. He had said the words. He engaged himself for life. It was done. There was nothing he could do against it.

_Every situation can be an opportunity. Or so they said. You just have to look for it._

Again, more so than Benjen’s conceals, it had been Kyria’s voice that had helped him see things through. Every situation can be an opportunity. It was something from her little book of manipulations. She had annoyed them with it for days before he left.

But how could this be an opportunity? He was sewing socks and serving food for someone else!

It hit him a couple of weeks later. Days of wondering again and again Why fate seemed so determined to torment him in such a way. Why did he have to be overlooked, again and again, forgotten on the back of the room like some annoying nuisance?

But when he thought about it, it suddenly became simple. Oh so simple. He wasn’t asking the right question. It was not about why him. Why his little person. It was about someone else. It was about for whom he bringing food and arranging things.

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.

The most important man in all the Watch. The Leader. Who had asked for him. To be his shadow, to follow him everywhere to help him, support him, ease his tasks. Him. Jon Snow was to be seen with the leader of the Watch day and night.

It took him a couple of days to understand the meaning of all this. He still wasn’t so sure of his explanation. But he knew Lord Commander Mormont must have had a reason for doing what he did. As Kyria liked to remind him, no one ever did things without reason. There was always a purpose, a goal. Lord Commander Mormont was just the same. He wanted something from this situation. He wanted Jon close to him, close to the main vein of the Watch.

The boldest part of Jon’s mind liked to phantasm that he wanted him because he saw something special in Jon. Something worth leading maybe.

But he couldn’t think like that. It was too hopeful, and life by now had shown him that hope could be very dangerous for him.

He was still the Bastard after all. _Lord Snow_ as they liked to call him now.

No, he couldn’t think like that. Those were prideful thoughts. He didn’t like thinking this. What claim could he had on a position that wasn’t even his? That was ridiculous.

But still, thinking about it helped him accept his own position. He made peace with it, after a time. He could even have started to feel at home, if not for one detail.

Alliser Thorne.

The man was a Ranger. He had been on the Wall since the Targaryen’s defeat. Close to twenty years now. He was important among the men. He trained them. A couple of years ago, he took the post of Master at Arms of Castle Black. He was respected. If they were an army, he would have been their general.

And, for some reason, he seemed to despise Jon. He couldn’t say for sure if it was him he hated, or what he was. A bastard, A Stark, the son of the man who helped usurp his King…

If Jon thought about it, the man had many reasons do dislike him. Jon couldn’t really blame him for that. But it was hard to support it.

Sometimes the man infuriated him, angered him. Part of him wanted to hit him, to beat him, to chew him until he had nothing to say. But he couldn’t do that.

_You can’t let your anger guide you, Jon. That’s the quickest way to make a mistake._

It was annoying. To have his sister’s voice constantly on his head, just to reprimand him like a little boy. Sometimes he wanted to ignore this voice, just to make it stop. Just to prove her he wasn’t under her command, he was a man, and Kyria couldn’t tell him what to do, no matter where she was. At Winterfell, or in his head.

Why should he listen anyway?

She wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t there and she couldn’t know what was happening to him if he didn’t tell her.

Except she could.

_We will see each other again someday. I know it. You must know it too._

Sometimes it was easy to forget everything that happened before he left Winterfell. To forget the screams, the visions… His sister’s white eyes as she fell from her horse all those moons ago, and the old voice of Nan resonating in their ears, full of the wisdom of the old legends.

It was easy and tempting. But he couldn’t do that. Not to himself and not to them. To Robb and Kyria who were both still neck down in all of this, trying to understand, trying to prepare. He couldn’t just forget everything and go on with his life.

He felt like listening to this voice in his mind was all he could do to continue this fight. To fulfill his word.

He swore Kyria he’ll help her. He couldn’t do that anymore. Not physically. But he could follow the path she opened for him. He could use what she tried to teach him and build a life for himself.

_You have to build your own story._

He tried to live by those words. One, night, maybe six months after his arrival, he sat ina corner of the baraks Ghost's head on his knee and he thought. He thought about the Watch, his position inside it. The things he did, the things he could do. The things he could offer it. The things he knew...

Every idea, every information. He was tempted to write them, like Kyria did with her dreams, but he didn't had the patience to do so.

So instead he thought. About her, about Father, about Robb. he thought of those times, those discussions with the three of them. He could almost picture it. The heart tree, big and magestic. His blood red leaves, the shadow on his face, the sun, shining behind it. And between its roots, Father. The slow move of his arm, cleaning the great sword of his family. He thought of Kyria and Robb, next to him, on their Father's feet, listening to what he had to say, when he said it.

Then, he tried to remember those books, those conversations with Robb, with Kyria, with Father. Every time he thought she was trying to teach him something. Every time she wanted to make him listen. To make him understand.

He understood one thing that night. He couldn't do nothing. He had to try, anything to stop being the sad bastard on the wall. He had to try to do what he never even thought about doing before.

Make people like him...

But how? He had friends in the Watch, of course, he had Kevar and Tehn and Edd. He had Maester Aemon who liked him, Lord Commander Mormont who seemed to enjoy his opinion from time to time. He had his uncle Benjen, always by his side.

_Your own story._

But they could only help him. They couldn’t make other people like him, or Thorne stops his vendetta against him.

He had to do this on his own. Build his own life. Without them to help.

He tried to find a way for weeks. To find something he could do to help his situation. Something, anything.

He knew from Kyria that the first step in a situation like the one he was in, he had to think of practicality first. What did he have to offer them? Other than himself?

He wasn’t smart like Kyria. He wasn’t strong like Robb. He hadn’t be trained at many things if excluded the few month before his leaving.

He was only confident in one thing in truth: he knew how to fight. Better than the men brought here. And his first weeks at Castle Black had shown him he was also good at teaching how to fight.

He thought about it a couple of more days before acting. The plan in his mind wasn’t much of a plan truly, and for it to work he’ll have to deal very closely with Thorne. He wasn’t sure to be able to do that with a clear head.

Besides, it was no part of his duties as a Stewart.

_But he had to try._

_So, one day, as he was serving the Lord Commander’s meal, he took his chance._

“ _You want something Jon Snow?” asked the Lord Commander._

_Jon had stayed behind the man, contrary to what he used to do. It was enough to catch the man’s attention. Jon wondered. Was it that easy?_

“ _If you’ll allow me, my lord, I had a thought.”_

“ _A thought? About what?”_

“ _About my...about what I could do to help.”_

“ _You think you’re not helping?” snorted Mormon. “you’re a Brother of the Night’s Watch. You’re a Stewart. What else do you want?”_

_Before Jon could answer, the man looked up, crossing Jon’s eyes._

“ _You think you know better than us what use we could have of you?” he challenged him sternly, almost daring him to do just so._

“ _No! No- I-” Jon took a deep breath, he needed to think about it. “I do not think such a thing, My Lord. I couldn’t. It would be very arrogant my Lord.”_

_He took a moment to choose his next words carefully. Lord Mormont took it as an opening to speak again._

“ _Only an arrogant boy thinks himself not arrogant,” he said wisely._

“ _Why is that?”_

“ _If you’re not arrogant, don’t say it. Show it.” said the man. “prove you are something else than an arrogant little lordling”_

“ _I am no Lordling, my Lord. I can’t be,” said Jon, his cheeks flushed._

“ _You’ve been raised in a castle didn’t you?” said Lord Commander, chewing a piece of his thin meat._

“ _I did my lord.”_

“ _Then you’re a Lorlding. Bastard or not, it doesn’t matter. You’ve been pampered all your life compared to most of the men here. That alone, make you arrogant.”_

_Jon blinked, ready to deny it. He wasn’t pampered, he wasn't a lordling! He wasn’t even wanted in his own home! He had spent his entire life being ignored and looked down in his Father’s keep, like a disease you want to wash away. All his life he had to pay for other’s mistakes! He had to live as the disgrace of the most honorable man of the Seven Kingdoms! He was no Lordling!_

_But then he thought about it. He did live in a castle. Warm, well fed, well learned, well raised. That alone was more than most could say about their lives._

_Ashamed, Jon lowered his gaze. The Lord Commander observed him like a hawk observes his prey._

“ _I just wanted to help my lord,” he said finally._

“ _And you think you know better than us how you could do that.”_

“ _I just thought-”_

“ _That is arrogant.” cut Lord Commander._

“ _I don’t-”_

“ _You’re a boy.” said the man. “A boy as green as grass can be. Who never saw a real battle or tasted a true winter. And you think you know better than us, seasoned fighters and commanders, how you should serve the Watch?”_

“ _I don’t presume to know any better,” he said. “I don’t know any better. But I thought of something and I wanted it to share it with you. With your permission.”_

_His tone may have been a bit harsher than what he would have wanted. But at least he said what he wanted to say. Lord Mormont looked up again, observing him silently._

“ _Mh. Very well then. What is your thought.”_

_Again, Jon restrained from talking again. He took his time to think about what he wanted to say. His first idea had been to propose himself in helping the new lads training with Ser Alliser. But now, he couldn’t say that. He would only prove the Lord Commander he was right. No, he needed to do something else._

_No. It wasn't about him. It was about the watch. What it needed. Not him._

“ _I am not the only one high born here.” he started slowly. “and I am not the only one trained in a castle.”_

“ _You are not. Right now and counting you, there are fifteen men battle-trained, for one hundred and twenty sworn brother. In Castle Black only of course.” answered Mormont._

_Jon bite his lip._

“ _I thought… Maybe we could… Maybe we could help. Training the men.” he started slowly. “Ser Alliser does a fine job, and it’s not my place to say otherwise. But I thought that maybe with more men to train… I don’t know, to train smaller groups. Maybe we could be more efficient.” he babbled nervously._

_He always had been a nervous talker._

_Mormont blinked slowly._

“ _That’s an interesting idea.” concede the man._

_Jon waited for the rest. But he didn’t say anything else. He almost asked, but in the end, stayed quiet._

_It reminded him of one of Uncle Benjen’s first lessons when he was still angry at everyone and everything._

_If you want to lead one day, learn to follow!_

Jon hadn’t heard of his idea for days after that.

He grew impatient, of course. He wanted to know. To have answers. He wanted to see if his little scheme or whatever he should call it, had taken roots in the Lord Commander’s mind.

He was no politician. He had no head for those things. Not like his sister. Or even Robb to a point. He was just good with a sword. But Kyria tried to teach him.

And now he tried to see if her teaching did him any good. He hoped he could do something with it.

But he knew he couldn’t just harass the Lord Commander until he had an answer. It wouldn’t do him any good.

_Talking is not like fighting. It needs more patience. For your words to go through your adversary mind. For him to understand them. To accept them as his own. Fighting is much quicker. You just need to strike well enough._

Patience. Before coming to the Wall, Jon thought he was a patient person. Now he wasn’t so sure. He wanted it to work. Since he took his vows he couldn’t train as he did before. He didn’t have the time, nor was he allowed.

“ _You’re a steward, Lord Snow. Not a Ranger.”_

But he wanted to. There was only that much he could do as a Stewart, and he knew deep down he could do much more. If only he could have the chance!

“ _That’s a good idea.” had said Uncle Benjen when he talked to him about what he did._

“ _You think so?”_

“ _Training smalls groups would help us for sure. And Thorne would have an easier job. It’s always harder to train larges crowd of people when they had no idea of what they are doing.” had said uncle Benjen._

“ _So you think he will accept?”_

_Uncle Benjen frowned._

“ _I don’t know. He may be. When did you talk to him about this?”_

“ _A sennight now.”_

_Uncle Benjen nodded. Jon waited for something else._

“ _Well then?”_

“ _What?”_

“ _What do you think?”_

“ _I think a lot of things,” he said._

“ _About what I just told you, uncle.”_

_Benjen smiled._

“ _I think this is worth a thought. But in the end, the Lord Commander will decide.”_

He decided. At some point.

A couple of months ago, Yoren came back with ten recruits, peasants for most of them. A couple of thieves, two rapers, three bastards of different Kingdoms who had nowhere else to go. And a handful of murderers.

Good crew…

Jon was used to it by now. Used to see people coming here, not because they wanted to serve a cause greater than them, but because they had nothing left. No choice. No way out. No hope.

“We’re fucked,” grumbled Edd next to him, looking at the young and not so young boys coming to the yard, looking around them with big round eyes.

It was strange to see the awe in those empty faces.

“You always think that,” said Tehn, a hand scratching his thin blond hairs.

“Because it’s true. Look at them. They look half-starved already.”

“They’re not covered enough for the snow,” said Kevar, his elbows against the wooden rail.

The four of them were observing like they did every time there were recruits. It was a way to evaluate their new brothers and what they should expect from them.

“How many are going to piss themselves when they’ll see him do you think?” asked Tehn with a smile.

Jon snorted.

“Why do you always ask that?”

“Because it’s funny,” he said back with a shrug of his slim shoulders.

He looked like his clothes were eating him half of the time. He was thinner than anything Jon ever saw before he came here. He looked weak, fragile, like a child. Strangely, he was not. He could even be a good fighter. If he was trained to do so.

“I don’t think it’s funny,” said Kevar softly.

“It is, admit it,” said Tehn with a smile. “ They’re always screaming like little girls the first time.”

“You didn’t look smarter when we came here,” said Jon casually. “He is huge after all. Everyone would be impressed at first. It is no common sight.”

Edd snorted.

As if he wanted to prove his master’s words, Ghost suddenly appeared in the yard, slow and silent, like he always was. He had grown, of course since they first came here. Jon couldn’t say for sure if he was full grown. No one knew much about Direwolves south of the Wall. But he was no ordinary pet that was sure.

He obeyed only Jon, no matter how many tried to command him. He didn’t like others trying to control him. Thorne tried to lock him up once. In one of the few unused storage rooms of Castle Black.

He didn’t last more than a sennight. For a wolf as silent as Ghost was, he knew how to make himself known. After another night supporting the endless sounds in Ghost’s prison, Lord Commander Mormont ordered Thorne to open the door and let the beast be.

He then asked Jon Snow to take care of it. One accident with Ghost and he would be killed on sight.

But Ghost was smart. And Loyal. No matter how big be became, Jon could still count on him to listen when needed.

And so, be started to be the welcome party of the recruits. Every time they came, he would appear and wait for their reaction.

Most of the times they would scream.

This time was no exception. The beast made a few steps, his head low, sniffing the new arrivals. The first man who saw him was on the back of the group. A tall lad with ginger hair. Or light brown, Jon couldn’t be sure from where he was.

“Oh, look at that one!” said Tehn excitingly.

Just as he was saying it, the lad on the yard, screamed. He made an impressive jump back and fell right on his ass. Ghost took another sniff and a step forward. The boy screamed again. It caught the attention of his fellow recruits, who immediately tried to run away, screaming and falling on each other just like the first one.

They fell down like sticks pilled together.

Tehn laughed loudly, cautioning the boys attention. Kevar and Edd didn’t seem to have reacted but Jon fought a smile of his own.

“Ghost. Enough,” he called.

The wolf huffed, looked up to him with his blood-red eyes. Jon held his gaze calmly. Then, with one last huff, the great wolf walked away, scaring a horse who was too close.

Jon pitied the poor beast. With a wolf almost as tall as him, he could understand the fear.

“ You are no fun Jon.” pouted Tehn.

“I think we might need to introduce ourselves now.”

“Why?” frowned Edd.

“Because someone laughed at them like a child?” proposed Kevar.

Jon snorted again.

“Fuck you Old shit, it was funny!” protested Tehn.

“Aye, let’s do that.” agree Jon, already climbing down the stairs to the yard.

His friend followed him. The boys down there are all looking at them now, different shades of anger in their faces. Some looked more humiliated than angry though.

As he made his way closer to them, Jon noticed most of them weren’t that young, contrary to what he thought. Some seemed old and beaten by their lives.

The one closer to them, the first who had witnessed Ghost. He was still red and looked furious, his eyes flashing in the middle of his red face.

“What the bloody hell was that?!” he cried, right to Jon’s face.

“That was Ghost. My Direwolf,” he said, almost proudly.

Why shouldn’t he be? Ghost was magnificent and belonged with him. His only pride in the life he now lived. To have such an impressive beast as a friend, and faithful companion.

“I’m sorry if he frightened you. But you’ll have to get used to him,” he said softly.

“Why should we? A beast like that don’t belong on the Wall.” said one of the men behind.

Jon looked at him. He kept his face as straight as possible. He wanted to impose himself and his wolf to them from the very beginning. He was there for long enough now to know that weakness was not something good to show around there. Those guys were ready to rip anyone off as soon as he showed the tiniest weakness. He needed to show who he was now. To discourage them from defying him later.

“A Direwolf belongs to the North. This place is as far as the North can be without going through the Wall. But, be my guest. Make him leave.” he said neutrally, only an inch of threat animated his face as he extended his arm to where Ghost had left them.

He didn’t like to do that. But he had been bothered before. He didn’t want to have to watch his back because some of them thought a Stewart like him could be bullied all day long.

The man who had talked frowned, not that much thrilled at the idea and drop his gaze.

“What is he even doing here?” asked the first guy.

The boy with reddish hair. He looked angry and fierce. He couldn’t say why, but Jon liked him, somehow. Maybe it was the hair. They looked a bit like Robb’s.

“He’s with me,” said Jon simply.

All eyes fell on him. The silence lasted for an agonizing amount of time. To the point where Jon was ready to just leave. He didn’t though.

“You?” spat a man on the back.

Jon didn’t answer. A hand pressed on his shoulder snapped him off of the eye contest he involuntary started with the guy.

“You’d better get used to this if you want to survive here boys,” said Edd while gripping his shoulder.

One of them snorted. Jon’s eyes fell back on the first one.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The guy hesitated.

“Grenn.”

“I’m Jon,” he said back.

“Lord Snow!” called an all too well-known voice behind him.

If he had less control, he would have rolled his eyes. He turned his head, followed by his friend surrounding him like they often do when this particular person ventured to close to him. It was kind and quite unnecessary. He could defend himself well enough.

But it was good to have support around him.

“What are you doing here?” asked Ser Alliser behind them.

“Welcoming the recruits Ser,” he answered, looking at the man right in the eyes.

“How kind of you Stewart,” he said with something very close to contempt.

Sometimes he wondered if Ser Alliser was somehow related to Lady Catelyn. They tended to share some similarities.

Their almost instinctive hatred of everything even slightly related to him was one example.

The mention of his position in the Watch seemed to amuse some of the new men around. Jon chooses to stay silent.

“It’s the least we could have done Ser.” said Tehn next to him. Quite bravely he could say.

“Of course...”

Those eyes were heavy on them. But Jon refused to go away. He would not bow in front of this man. And he refused to submit to anyone’s contempt. Not anymore.

Not that honor was due to Lady Catelyn. And she wasn’t there to fulfill it.

“Don’t you have work to do Lord Snow?” said the man, looking at Jon from under his nose.

“Not just now Ser Alliser,” he said back, his eyes still in the man.

Thorne hummed. He opened his mouth, surely to enlightened again but a voice, from behind them stopped him immediately.

“Jon Snow!” called the trembling voice of old Maester Amon from up on the gallery.

Jon looked up, giving up the eyeing contest he somehow started with the old knight.

“A raven came for you. From Winterfell.”

Jon couldn’t climb the stairs fast enough. He ignored the biter voices behind him. The voices of those who still didn’t like him, and his rich education.

He smiled tightly at the old men, even though, as blind as he were, the poor fool couldn’t see it. He then took the paper from his hands.

It was from Kyria. The sight of the soft letters of her hand only ever brought a smile on his face. He missed home.

However, the words made him quickly lose his smile.

_Jon,_

_Something happened._

_Bran had been hurt. One of the barn outside of the keep had burned. We don’t know why. Bran was close. He is wounded. We don’t know anything else. Mother refused to leave the Maester Tower._

_We don’t know anything else, Jon. I don’t know what to do._

_I tried you know. I tried to do something about that. He was not supposed to be burned. He was supposed to fall. But I stopped that. He didn’t fall. And now he is burned._

_I tried to save him. He told me I couldn’t but I tried anyway. It’s my fault._

_I don’t know what to do Jon. I wish you were there too._

_I’m scared Jon. I’m really scared now._

_Please take care of yourself brother. Don’t make a mistake. It would kill Father if he had to take your head for desertion. Robb too._

_I love you, Jon._

_I’m sorry._

_Kyria._

No. No this couldn’t be happening! How could this be?!

Bran…

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

A couple of days later, he received another letter. From Robb this time. Bran would live. Then, another fortnight later, Robb wrote again. And again, one last time, a sennight later. So many news in so little time. He didn't know what to think about this. All of this. Someone had tried to kill Bran. Lady Catelyn and Summer had stopped it. Bran had woken up. And Kyria went South with Father Sansa and Arya.

He took every news with a confused frown. Part of him wanted to leave. To just go and find his home. Be with his brother. Help his family. But he hesitated too long and before he could properly take a decision, the other letters were there.

Now he didn’t know what to do.

Maybe that was why Lord Commander Mormont chose this time precisely to finally answer his suggestion. Between two alarming letters send by his brother's hand. In the middle of Jon's confusion about what to do.

It had been so long by then, Jon almost forgot it.

The old man hadn’t.

“I thought about this idea of yours,” he said one day.

Jon had blinked slowly at him, his sudden exclamation brutally had brought him out of his thought.

“This thing about trained brothers training others.” elaborate the Commander.

“Yes my Lord,” said Jon, unsure of what else he was supposed to respond.

“This new bunch of recruit that Yoren brought back. We are going to test your idea on them.”

Jon blinked.

“Yoren will go back South soon. Further South. You’ll take this time to apply this idea of yours. You as well as the noble born brothers present, will join Ser Alliser on the yard and start your new duty.”

Jon took a moment to fully understand what he was saying.

“Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, Yes My lord. I will be there.” nodded Jon, hardly believing what was happening.

That was his chance.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He only understood later the reason why Lord Mormont decided to act now.

Maester Aemon must have told the Lord Commander about the numerous letters Jon received recently within the last months.

Maybe he had been scared, that the news he kept having from home were troubling enough to… tempt him in making a mistake.

Or maybe he was just thinking too much.

But still, somehow it was a strange coincidence.

Jon thought about it for a long time. Enough to almost miss the time for his appointment with the other men supposed to help Ser Alliser in his training of the men.

There wasn’t much else to say about the discussion. Maybe he didn’t pay as much attention as he should have. Lord Commander Mormont had similar arguments than the ones Jon exposed himself all those months ago. As well as more like the necessity for an institution to have well-trained men as often and as numerous as possible. That the Watch couldn't afford ot feed farm boys who knew nothing of a good fight and ended up killed the first day out of the Wall. That having groups of men used to fight together would be an advantage agianst the Wildlings. Like small squads that could be displayed on the field.

It was unlikely to happen of course, but for too long already the Watch had lacked the discipline necessary for a fighting army, one displayed to defend the Wall at that.

They were all good arguments, and Jon wisely kept his mouth shut when the question of whose idea it was came up to the conversation.

“The responsibility should be shared between Benjen and me Ser Alliser.” had answered the Commander.

Ser Alliser didn’t seem convinced. Nor did he looked unhappy to Jon’s utter surprise. He would have thought the man displeased by the idea of others stealing his job. The idea of little group training together for a long amount of time under the tutelage of men already trained even seemed appealing to him

It was a bit unfair, if one took the time to think about it, as it put the men castle trained, and so the high born brothers on an upper level compared to those from less fortunate background who had to look at their fellow brothers like army officers. It was against the rules of the Watch. Once a man was Sworn to the Watch where he came from didn’t matter anymore.

At this argument, Lord Mormont offered another.

“Once the first recruits trained, they will be able to have their own units, and then birth and status won’t matter anymore.” said the Commander.

It had been interesting.

At the end of the discussion, Jon and nine other sworn brothers had the new and older recruit displayed between them, with orders to start the training first light on the morrow.

The old Bear specified that the exercise would be a try first. If the thing worked well enough, they would apply the thing to the two other Castle still functional on the Wall.

Jon found himself responsible for three of the recruits as well as some of the new brothers. The first day was strange, and thrilling. Responsabilities... Eleven men he had to train, to teach and whom would be under his direct command. It wasn't an army, but after on year of serving like... well like a servant, Jon would have been happy with one sole man as long as he could figtha again.

“Why should we do what you say?” grumbled one of the men, Pip, if he remembered well.

A part of Jon would have liked to bite off the boy’s head like a beast. To make him swallow back his words with some wit of his own. Like Kyria would do.

But he wasn't Kyria, and he wasn't good with words in general.

Instead, he took a deep breath and shrugged.

“Because I know how to swing a sword.” he said simply. “and you don’t.”

The man showed his teeth, his eyes were fierce and angry. Jon wondered what he had done to anger the lad so much. His meeting with Ghost couldn’t be the sole reason.

“We’re eleven against you!” snorted another. He didn’t know his name.

“And you want to fight twelve against one?” he said, still relatively calm.

He didn’t feel calm, however. Even if he was better than them, he couldn’t fight twelve men alone without risk of getting hurt.

But they didn’t know that…

“Try me then, Pip isn’t it?” he said back.

The boy hesitated for a second. He looked at Jon, then at his training sword, a thoughtful expression on his face. A couple of men behind him whispered to each other. One of them nodded, another called out for Pip to do it.

“Teach Lord Snow a lesson!” he said.

Finally, he decided and ran right on Jon’s sword. Then, when he fell on the cold floor, another one took his place. And another. And another. Until Jon was the only one who stood.

He looked at them then. Each one of them, right in the eyes.

“So. Will you listen then?”

No one found more reason to complain.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was one of those days that found Lord Tyrion Lannister knocking at the main door. Before Robb's last letter, and a small sennight after their first session of training. He was flanked of a handful of Lannister guards, red and gold and more colorful than anything Jon saw in a long time.

Distractedly, he put Grenn back on the floor with a swift of his sword.

“You need to move more.” he said to the boy. “a moving target is harder to hit.”

Grenn nodded, his head low.

“Impressive!” called the imp from the corner where he stood, surrounded by his men.

Jon looked at the man, noticing from the corner of his eyes how the boys around him, surrounding him like faithful men.

It was interesting to notice. His idea seemed to work.

“Do you intend to take the Black my Lord?” asked Jon with some impertinence he didn’t know he had.

Lord Tyrion blinked opened his mouth and laughed loudly.

“Me? Good gods no! What use would the Watch have of a humble dwarf like me? No, no, I simply wanted to see the Wall and the brave men of the Watch who defend us from any harm that may come to us.” his eyes were sharp and smart when he talked.

The little man took some time to look at Jon with his sharp little eyes.

“You. You’re Jon Snow aren’t you?” he said rhetorically. “You look like your Father.”

Jon nodded, his jaw tied close.

“Well then Jon Snow, why don’t you take me to your Lord Commander? I could tell you about your darling family.”

“With all your respect my Lord, I do not serve you,” said Jon his voice cold and strong.

The imp’s eyes glinted.

“But you are the Lord Commander Stewart are you not? You serve him.”

“I serve the Watch,” answered Jon.

“Who is commanded by Lord Commander Mormont, whom you are the personal Stewart.” added the man smartly.

_I don’t like you._ Jon thought angrily.

But the half-man wasn’t wrong. So with one shared look with his men around him, Jon signed the imp to follow him to the Lord Commander’s office.

“Thank you Bastard.” said the man cheerfully.

Jon’s shoulder tensed. He took a deep breath, trying as hard as he could to ignore the annoying man behind him. He knew what he was doing. Lannister was testing him. He was trying to see if he could annoy him enough so he might snap. But he won’t. Oh no, this annoying little man won’t see him lose his senses.

As Kyria liked to remind them: it would do him no good to open his mouth when his thought were clouded by anger.

From the other side of the yard, a couple of men carefully walked away, allowing the imposing figure of Jon’s faithful friend to observe the new arrivals. Jon smiled.

“By the Seven. So you have one too!” observed Lord Tyrion with awe. “ I thought those beasts were only for the Stark children.”

“Lord Stark is my Father,” he said between his greeted teeth.

“Indeed.” nodded the man. “but Lady Stark is not your Mother. Which makes you, the Bastard of Winterfell. I heard quite a lot about you back there.”

Jon didn’t answer, he climbed the first steps leading to the Lord Commander Tower, determined to ignore the imp’s attempt to anger him.

The man seemed to like the sound of his own voice, as he didn’t wait long to delight them with it again.

Did he ever shut up?

“Did I offend you? Sorry.” he didn’t sound sorry at all. “You are a bastard though.”

He couldn’t deny that. But he wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of fulfilling the conversation.

“If you’ll allow me, Bastard.” said the imp again, as they walked the last steps of the wooden stairs. “let me give you some advice!”

“I don’t need it,” said Jon harshly.

Both of them stopped in front of the Lord Commander’s office.

“Oh, but you do.”

Jon looked down at him. The imp’s face was serious, his eyes sharper than even before, looking right in Jon’s.

“Never forget what you are bastard. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used against you.”

Not expecting an answer, Lord Tyrion knocked on the door in front of them.

“And how do you know anything about being a bastard my Lord,” asked Jon, his voice ice cold.

As the voice of the Lord Commander boomed through the door, commanding Jon to open it, Tyrion Lannister smiled sarcastically at Jon a strange light in his troubling eyes.

“All dwarfs are bastards in their Father’s eyes, Jon Snow.”

“Who is that?” asked the Lord Commander.

Jon announced their guest and waited for the man to step inside the room, as it was expected of him. His eyes, however, didn’t leave Tyrion’s small silhouette, the weight of his words echoing in his being with a new meaning.

_All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The days following the dwarf’s arrival, Jon spend a lot of time observing the man, familiarizing himself once more with the shadowy corners of a castle, like he used to do so often back home.

The words he spoke to him that first time, were haunting him. The gravity in them, the fatality of his declaration.

Tyrion Lannister seemed to be more complicated than he first expected.

So he watched. Between his training sessions with the recruits and the brothers he had under his wing, and his daily duties as a Stewart, he watched.

He noticed then, that the Lannister half-man had made a habit of asking a lot of questions to a lot of people. He seemed to never stop talking. Once he was talking with the Lord Commander, another time with Maester Aemon, another time with one of the Recruits -Rat or something like that- and on and on…

He never stopped.

As Jon observed him and contemplated his words, a familiar voice invaded his mind, disturbing his line of thought and confusing his certitudes.

_Listen to the Bastard in his father’s eyes. Learn from him._

Kyria had told him that. That day. With this strange tone in her voice, the one he felt compelled to listen to. She had told him that and now Jon wondered.

Bastard in his father’s eyes. Was she referring to Tyrion Lannister? Did she want him to learn something from the little man?

But what?

All those questions polluted his mind for a couple of days. He thought and theorized and thought again when finally he came to the only logical conclusion. He needed to go to the man directly. Talk to him. Try to understand him.

He went to him one first time. While the dwarf was reading in a corner, in his rare silent moments. He tried to talk.

_Why do you read so much?_

He left the conversation with a new understanding of the man and his mind, and a strange need to find a library himself. He reminded him of Kyria. She too felt the need to cultivate her mind like him and Robb cultivated their skills with swords. The sole difference would then be that Kyria wanted them to work with something else than words only.

Later that day, when Maester Aemon found him in his library, Jon talked. He didn’t think about it at first, the old man just sat close to him asking for his purpose when coming to this place and Jon just talked. He shared his memories with his bookworm of a sister and the way each book of this place reminded him of her. Maester Aemon answered with his own tales and Jon learned more about the old men in this sole hour than he had in the year he spends up there.

He thought about it later. There only did he understood what happened. He had done just like Tyrion Lannister. He had talked and asked questions until the person in front of him allowed him to know things he wouldn’t have otherwise.

Was it the thing Kyria wanted to teach him when she was so insistent about the right question?

Jon started again on the morrow. And the day after. And the one after that. With his friends first, Tehn and Edd and Kevar. Then Grenn and Pip and Rat and the others he was training.

Like with Tehn he asked why they were here, then he elaborated. Asking about their childhood, their lives before the Wall, what they expected from this new life.

Anything he could think of.

He talked too of course. To them and to the Lannister dwarf too to his surprise.

Days followed each other like that until Yoren decided it was time for him to go back South. Tyrion Lannister and his guards followed him, the little man being finally tired of the Wall and its weather.

“I will talk to my sister the Queen about this place,” he said to Jon.

“Will she listen?”

The man smiled a sardonic one, and didn’t answer. It didn’t matter, Jon knew.

“Good luck around there Bastard,” he said then.

“Aye.” smiled Jon. When had he started to smile when Tyrion called him that? “And you too dwarf.”

They smiled and then he was gone.

Jon watched him leave with the strange impression of having learned more of him than he expected.

“What do you think Jon?” asked uncle Benjen, a hand on his shoulder, as they watched the gates getting close behind the imp and Yoren.

“Of what?”

“Of dear Lannister imp?” snorted the older Stark. “a true well breed southern noble if I ever saw one. Or, well, half one.”

Jon hummed.

“He is more than he looks,” he said simply.

Uncle Benjen looked at him, intrigued by such an answer, but Jon didn’t elaborate. In truth, he didn’t know what else to say. Tyrion Lannister was a complicated man.

“He certainly is something.” said uncle Benjen after some time. “let’s just hope he will stay true to his word and talk to the Queen about the state of this place.”

“I think he will,” said Jon confidently.

He just wasn’t sure that the Queen would listen. Tyrion didn’t seem to think so.

“Any news about Bran?” asked uncle Benjen.

“He woke up,” said Jon somberly.

After another moment of silence, Jon opened his mouth to say what his uncle seemed to want to say himself.

“You are leaving aren’t you?” he asked softly.

“Aye. We heard disturbing news from beyond the Wall.”

“What news?”

“Stories. Myth. I hope.”

He didn’t say more, and Jon didn’t ask. He had learned early in his life as a sworn brother not to ask about his uncle’s missions. At first, it was because they were hurting him. To know his uncle was away, living the life Jon had dreamed of was hard. But then, he had just didn’t want to. Somehow not knowing allowed him to think that his uncle would come back safely.

He could tell himself that the danger wasn’t so big.

It became a habit of some sort. Each time he had a new mission, Uncle Benjen would tell Jon. And Jon would not ask any precision.

“It will certainly take a couple of months.” said uncle Benjen.

“Very well,” answered Jon.

The plea for him to stay safe was left unsaid. He couldn’t show weakness. Not even for his family.

On the morrow, Jon watched as his uncle rode right into the haunted forest, flanked by two other rangers, his heart heavy with worry.

It was the last time he saw his beloved uncle Benjen.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you think? Good? Bad? Awful?
> 
> I'm not sure I'm entirely satisfied with this chapter. I put everything I needed to put in there, but... I don't know it feels like something is missing.
> 
> I wished to include Sam's arrival too, but I had already a lot of things said in this chapter, so I thought better to leave it that way with Benjen's departure and disappearance Beyond the Wall. Even though technically it's a Cliffhanger, we all know what happened to him after that.
> 
> I took a lot of liberties with the watch ^^' I just thought someone like Jon wouldn't be satisfied as a Stewart for an entire year without at least trying to do something else. He doesn't last long in the show but by then he's already with the Wildlings so it doesn't really count ^^
> 
> I wanted to show that in this world, where Jon spend one full year on the Wall before going beyond it, he couldn't live the exact same things and have the same reactions to the people he met. I like to think that Jon would have been well-liked at the Wall at some point without the Free Folks business. So putting Jon on the Wall can give him a bit more of a good reputation in it before those events. That's also why I had this idea of little squads. 
> 
> As I already said, I only watched the show so everything I know about the Watch comes from what I remember about it in the show. I know Thorne didn't like it when Jon trained the men, both before and after his excursion beyond the Wall. And once he becomes Mormont's personal Stewart we don't see him train anymore. So I had this idea. 
> 
> If I'm wrong well... sorry ^^'. I kind of like it this way.
> 
> Finally, the OC. Don't worry they won't have a lot of importance in the plot, besides being Jon's friends. I only thought it would be normal for him to make other friends while Grenn Pip (is it the right way of writing BTW?) and Sam as they are not here yet. And with more friends, Jon is more part of the Wall. See what I mean?
> 
> ANYWAY, I hope you liked this one! Do not hesitate to share your opinion! As always thank you so much for following, commenting or just liking this story! I really appreciate that!
> 
> Thank you all for reading me, I hope you'll continue until the end of this strange adventure ;) And I'll see you all next time!  
> Bubye!


	13. Chapter 13: Clever girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tourney of the Hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Miss me? ;)  
> Let's be honest, I'm kind of nervous. I like this chapter a lot and I hope you'll do too. I honestly think it's one of my best. Or, well I feel like it. But then, I'm not sure so don't hesitate to share your opinion with me!  
> I don't have many things to say this time so I'm just gonna shut up now xD
> 
> I hope you'll like this chapter! Don't hesitate to tell me if you do! I'll see you at the end!

**Chapter 13: Clever girl…**

**Year 298 after the Conquest, month Seventh and eighth.**

**Kingslanding.**

**Kyria**

Clever girl.

That was how everyone liked to call her those days. Father always called her that. Mother used to do it, Maester Luwin too, often when he found her in the library, back home.

It didn't feel true anymore. Not like it did at Winterfell when it was just her and her family.

She didn't feel clever. Not now, not here. Not South, where everything kept pulling her attention, like small excited children running around asking to play.

She couldn't think. Not like she did back home. She felt wrong here. She had so many things to think about, and so little time to do so. She had to think, she needed to think to be clever now more than ever, and yet, she couldn't. There was always something else.

Days were confusing, melting in each other, so much that the line between them was nothing more than troubled water.

One day she learned that someone had tried to kill Bran while he was still unconscious, then came another day and Bran has woken. Then came another day and the sentence fell: he could barely walk. Without help, it was almost impossible for him to stand up, let alone walk. A solution had been found the day after. A device on his leg, gifted to him by the imp from what Father was saying.

All those things happened at different times, yet for her, it felt like one lonely very long day.

She felt restless. Not unlike she was back home. She had hoped, maybe foolishly, that coming South with Father would have changed that. That actively deciding to try everything she could to change those dreams, and her family fate would change that. It didn't.

It didn't help, it made everything worse. She had so many things to do, to think of, to change. So many things she could do. Everyday thousand ideas were invading her, again and again. All the time. When she crossed someone on a corridor, she thought what if. When a knight bowed to her in the garden, she thought why not. When some lady of the court chipped her courtesy with a false smile on her face, just to be well seen by the Hand's daughter, she thought maybe...

She thought, every day, every time. But it was all she was doing. Nothing more.

The truth was, she didn't know what to do. She was afraid. Afraid to make a mistake. To make things worse.

And if only that was the lone problem.

No. No, it couldn't be so simple. Being in Kingslanding had the wonderful side effect of teaching her a very hard lesson. She was nothing. Just a girl with a name and a house that came with it. Just a girl with a good type of blood running through her veins. A blood and a name priceless up North, but as useless as the dust on her shoes.

It wasn't even completely true. She wasn't only useless for what she intended to do here. She was desired. A face pretty enough with a good name on it. A woman. A price to gain for favors given to the Hand of the King.

A good price to add on one Lord's arm. Nothing more.

She didn't grow up in a place like that, she didn't know how to deal with it. How to play. No matter how many books she read about, it, she never truly experienced politics. Not first hand. Not like here.

She was useless here. And she had been truly stupid to think otherwise. Stupid and naive.

She tried so. She tried as much as she could. To help, so support. Anything she could. She couldn't ignore her father's always more tired face. She knew she had to try…

Every evening when Father came back from his day, looking tired and defeated, she tried to talk to him, to make him talk maybe, to confess himself. She wanted to relieve him from whatever was weighed on his shoulders.

"Father..." she asked softly. "Is everything alright?"

He blinked a couple of times and looked at her, his face softened. He grabbed the hand she had put on his shoulder and rubbed it with his fingers.

"It's alright darling, do not trouble yourself,"

She pressed her lips. That was not what she wanted to hear.

"Are you sure?" she asked again.

He nodded and kissed her hand. Kyria sighed and put her cheek against her father's hair. He was good at making her feel like a youngling. Why couldn't he just stop being so stubborn and talk to her? He hugged her back with a soft smile.

"You know you can talk to me," she said softly. "I'm not a child anymore,"

He chuckled and pat her arm.

"I know my dear. But it is nothing you can make better that easily,"

So there was something wrong...

"Father...I'm sorry but I disagree," she said softly. "I don't think you can solve everything by talking to me. But at least you can share something with me." he was about to open his mouth, but she didn't let him. "I know that I know nothing of what might be happening in the small council. But I do know you, Father. I know you don't like it here. I don't like it either. And I know you despite this place. But Father, I can help you, if you let me." she pressed his hand a bit harder. " Let me help you, Please."

Part of her wanted her Father to explain everything. To finally have something to work with. Some information, anything. Just something useful so she could finally start helping her family. Something to help her understand this place a bit more, and the reason why this place felt so frightening.

That was a lot to ask and she knew that. But still…

She hoped. Foolishly maybe.

"It's nothing Darling..." he said again.

Of course, it wasn't. But what else could she say? She didn't want her Father to close up to her. Besides what would be the point? Burdening him with even more worries besides his own? No, she wasn't there for that.

With a resigned sigh, she took place comfortably in front of the slowly burning fire and opened the book she had brought with her, where she had last left it. She read quietly for a couple of hours, peacefully enjoying her father's presence on her back.

Frost joined her, at some point. He sniffed her feet curiously, undoubtedly wondering why did she steal the best place in front of the fire.

She smiled and rubbed his soft nose.

"You're jealous, boy?" she asked with a smile.

Frost snorted, his face close to what she supposed would be a frown for a human being. He whined a little, pleading his cause with all the strength hidden behind his large eyes. Kyria giggled. It was worth a try, she couldn't blame him for that.

"Come here," she said softly, pointing at her legs.

Frost sniffed at her legs curiously, then walked slowly around her, his head low and bumping against her as often as his path permitted it. When he was satisfied with whatever this was, he took place behind her, so her back would rest against his side comfortably.

Kyria smiled and rubbed his large head now resting against his paws. Then she went back to her reading.

"What are you reading?" asked Father after a time.

Kyria smiled behind her hair. If it wasn't for the warmth of the fire in front of her, she could have believed to be at home. In the Godswoods where they spend so much time talking.

"A book about Religions in Braavos,"

"Braavos hm?"

She nodded, looking up to his eyes.

It was good to see that smile on his face.

They talked quietly about her book, she would read a paragraph or a sentence, and then they would talk about it. They would talk about religion, then culture, differences. At some point, they started talking about the Wildling back home. It was strange to think about. It always moved something in her gut. She couldn't explain it.

She had learned not to try to explain everything when it was about her… gut feelings. It was easier this way. For her headaches as well as her sanity.

At some point, Nymeria took place next to her brother, her silent step unperceptive until she lay against Frost's larger flank. She sniffed him curiously and he nipped her hear as a response.

"Do you think that means Arya will join us soon?"

Father chuckled and pat her head. His hand slipped on the long locks falling on her shoulder. She had let them free on her shoulders that night, tired of all those braids she had to put in her hair to discipline it a little and not look like a mad women half the time. She did love her hair a lot, but keeping them so long had its inconvenients.

"Maybe..." answered Father.

The movement of his hand was stopped by a chambermaid who tried not so quietly to rearrange whatever is needed to be rearranged somewhere behind them. Kyria briefly looked at her. Long enough to notice the flash of blue that her eyes gave when she looked in their direction.

Was she a spy too?

Was everyone around this Keep the spy of someone else? She was afraid of knowing the answer to this question…

Repressing her frustration at this idea, Kyria took her lecture back where she left it, trying to ignore then annoying thought. She didn't want to think about this now.

When she looked up, maybe fifteen minutes later, Lady had joined what looked more and more like a puppy pile and was watching her with great attention. Kyria huffed and scratched the she-wolf's ear with affection. Such a sweet thing. Even in her monstrous weight, she looked delicate.

"They all seem to like the sound of your voice my dear," observed Father.

"You think so?"

He nodded with a tired smile.

"They always seem to do so, didn't you notice?"

"Not really. I just thought they were the same with every one of us," she explained slowly.

Father shacked his head slowly.

"Only you and Robb have that effect on them."

"Really?" smiled Kyria. "so what we are the alpha pair?" she snorted, amused by her idea. "How strange."

Father escaped a soft huff behind her, drawing her attention away from the pages of her book.

She looked at his face, saddened by the new wrinkles that had appeared again on his skin. It was strange to see this face who used to never change back home growing older day after day.

She hated what this place was doing to her Father.

"I should get some rest," he announced with a scratch on his growing beard. "And so should you, my girl. It's getting late,"

"Yes Father," nodded the young lady absentmindedly.

Ned kissed the crown of her head, one calloused hand resting in the girl's soft cheek. Then, with a last used smile, he quit his seat and made his way to his room.

"Father," she called.

"Yes, Kyria?"

"You- If something is bothering you… you should talk to someone. Even if it's not me." she said awkwardly.

A dark shadow crossed his eyes.

"There is no one to talk to in this viper nest."

"But-"

"Good Night Kyria. We have some long days ahead of us," said Lord Stark on his way to the door.

Kyria closed her mouth, glaring frustratingly at the floor.

Well, at least she spent some time with her father. That was always something, isn't it?

Determinate to ignore her way too loud heartbeat, Kyria went to her room. There was nothing else left to do tonight. Leaving the book on the corner of her table, she slowly undressed, one lace after the other, lost in her mind. Then, with only her thin shift, she curled herself under the covers like a child after a nightmare. The tourney in her father's honor coming closer and closer, there was this feeling of urgency crawling in the back of her mind. Like a beast locked up in a cage waiting impatiently for the hand who's feeding him to make a mistake. To set it free.

She didn't sleep well that night. Her dreams were full of white faceless silhouettes and raging scream resonating all around here. She didn't want to understand what they were saying. It felt better to called it the cry of a sheep for the rest of the herd.

Sheep didn't cut heads after all.

Except they did… All night long. And it was one of those she couldn't blink away.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Today was the big day. The day all the keep had been waiting since they arrived. The tourney.

Kyria wasn't one of those who waited impatiently for this. She'd rather had stayed all day buried in her bed, or the library. Sweet sweet library.

Unfortunately, not everyone shared her dispositions regarding the coming event.

As so, Kyria found herself shacked awake by a rather impatient hand, owned by no one but her darling little sister.

Sansa's face appeared on top of Kyria, a wide smile on her pretty face. She was still wearing her nightshift, but her hair was already dressed prettily, in something very close to those southern's ladies. Kyria wasn't sure she liked it...

Well at least she didn't seem to want to torture her with the same kind of hairstyle.

She liked her simple braid like it was thank you very much.

Besides, it was useful to keep attention away from her.

"Wake up Kyria! I had the most wonderful idea for you this morning! You are going to love it you'll see! Go on, wake up! We are going to be late for the tourney!"

"Sansa, it's too soon for that yet. The tourney won't start before late morning," she grumbled, eager to bury herself back under the blanket.

"But there is no time! I still have to dress up and to take care of your hair and your dress and then there is Arya too!" she shacked Kyria's shoulder again, impatient and loud, "Kyria! Wake up!"

"What are you talking about? Go prepare yourself and leave me be! What are you, my handmaiden?"

Even though she couldn't see from under her cocoon, Kyria could have sworn she heard Sansa roll her eyes.

"No but I am your sister and I know how to make you look pretty!" she said impatiently. The south seemed to have a bad influence on her… "Come on Kyria wake up! Please, for me!"

… That was playing unfair and she knew it.

"You're not playing fair," she mumbled.

"I know but please! I am certain you are going to love this! I thought about it just yesterday and Sara helped me pick the flowers so they could be fresh today!"

"Flowers?" repeated Kyria, discovering an eye to glare at the bubble of energy that couldn't stop popping in the middle of her bedroom.

Sansa's smile would have blinded the sun.

She didn't have much of a choice...With a heartbreaking groan, Kyria let go of her sheets and allowed her sister to drag her out of her bed. The girl enthusiastically did so, not wasting a minute before forcing her sister into the dress she chose for the day, a dark blue skirt with a lighter bodice stitched with pearls and lines similar to the color of the skirt. Her sleeves were longer than what she was used to, closer to her skin around the shoulder also. But she did like the thick belt, almost similar to a corset against her belly.

Sansa clapped happily, admiring her work with Kyria's outfit.

"Perfect! Now I only need to do your hair!"

"Thank you, Sansa, but I think a simple braid will be enough."

She couldn't have looked more offended if Kyria had kicked a puppy in front of her. Or ate the last of her precious lemon cakes. Whatever was best.

"A braid? But Kyria! Your hair is so long and shiny and pretty! Why would you want to braid them? I can't let you do such a thing!" she protested, most eagerly.

"Sansa-" tried Kyria.

"No this won't do! Sara, Jenny and I spend a lot of time choosing which flower would end up in your hair! Just like we did with mine!" she pointed her head, effectively orned with a couple of pale roses, that went beautifully with Sansa's red hair. Were they the same color as her dress? "I won't let you ruin our work with a braid! How awful!"

The girl pouted. Kyria rolled her eyes in the reflecting glass.

"You are getting rather theatrical dear sister. I wonder if the South has a bad influence on your quiet temper."

Sansa blushed, a little pout on her pretty face.

"But Kyria! A tourney! We never went to a tourney before! And I am to be queen someday! I have to be perfect today! Just as you and Arya do! So that when people will look at us, they won't see Northen Savages!"

"We are not Northen Savages. There are no Northen savages South of the Wall." protested the older sister.

"I know but they don't!" said Sansa. "Do you think me deaf? I hear them. That's what they call us. All around the keep! They think we do not belong South of the Neck."

They weren't wrong if Kyria had anything to say about it.

"I want to prove them wrong!" announced Sansa with an unfamiliar determination.

This place was affecting her sister. She seemed to be… blossoming, somehow. She couldn't tell exactly what brought this change in her, the South, the people, the accomplishment of her lifelong dream to come in such a place… It could be many things truly. But it worried her. Kyria knew this was not a good place for her sister. Like for the rest of their family. She believed that the sooner they were away from this place, the better it would be for all of them.

But seeing Sansa like that… more lively than she ever was back home… Kyria couldn't help but doubt herself…

What if being South was what was better for her little sister? What to do then? A bit lost in the complications of this situation, Kyria held Sansa's gaze on the glass. Silent and thoughtful.

Was it selfish to wish they never had to leave home? She wasn't sure anymore...

Sansa smiled.

"You'll see sister, we are going to be perfect!"

she clapped her hands and, as some kind of signal, Sara and Maerys opened her door. The blond handmaiden had something blue in her hands, and a wide smile on her face.

It took a minute for Kyria to recognize the flower.

"A Winter rose?! Sansa have you lost your mind?" she cried when the flower was close enough.

Sansa's face flushed with hurt, but Kyria didn't let it slow her and add:

"Don't you know the symbolism behind Winter roses? So far south with that!? This is madness!"

"What are you talking about Kyria? Winter roses are of the North, I thought it would be of good taste to remind people that we are from the North, although we are not savages! Just like my roses are white like snow!" explained passionately the little girl.

"I understand, but Sansa, don't you know who was the last person who wore Winter roses in her hair?!"

Sansa blinked owlishly. She looked like Robb for a moment.

"I know you spend time on this sister but I can't in good conscience appear in front of the court with the same roses that started the Rebellion or Robert and ended up with our aunt death!"

The girl paled drastically, a hand flying to her face. Before she could talk, however, Sara giggled happily.

"Oh do not worry my lady! No one ever cared about Winter roses in ladies' hair! You won't be the first one for sure! Some even ask the gardeners to plant more bush so they have plenty of choice concerning their hairdressing!" she shared happily.

Kyria's eyes sharpened immediately. She highly doubted every word coming from that pretty mouth. A lot of ladies with blue roses in their hair? With The symbolism behind it? She didn't think so. That was a big fat ugly lie. Still, the blond creature kept going.

"Besides," she added, "we all agreed to this dress because of the perfect match with those roses. Look at the bodice! The bird on the shoulder! He rests on a rose! Could you imagine a more perfect association?"

Kyria looked at her dress. She could indeed notice a tiny bird on her right shoulder, who's little head was half buried inside the silhouette of a large rose, who ran down her back. She touched it with the tip of her fingers and looked up.

Sansa was pleading with her, along with Sara and the other pretty think on their heels, Jenny she thought she was called.

She didn't know what to think. She knew, deep down that this was the worst idea Sansa ever had. To have a Stark Daughter with Winter roses in her hair was begging for trouble. From the King, surely, but from Father too! He lost his sister after all, and Kyria knew he loved her very much. She knew very well that blue roses were linked to Lyanna Stark for the rest of the eternity. As long as there will be talking about Robert Baratheon's rebellion.

That was known as such. And, so soon after it… no, it would be a farce for another Stark to have such a thing in her hair right under the nose of the man who fought an entire country for the last Stark with blue on her hair.

_Promise me…_

No. No, she couldn't do that. She couldn't put her Father in such a situation. She looked up, to Sansa's face, and the roses on the maid's hands.

"I can't let you put those in my hair." she decided finally.

"Kyria!" protested Sansa.

"No, Sansa listen. The King was betrothed to our aunt. Then Rhaegar Targaryen noticed her in a tourney just like this one. He put a crown of winter roses in her head, and then took her away and raped her! And now you want me to present myself on a tourney, in our Father honor, my hair dressed with the same flowers that brought so many heartbreaks in the Kingdom? Sister, you should know, better than anyone the offense that clothes and hair can make if mistakenly gathered."

Sansa looked at the maids around her, as if for help. Both girls exchange meaningful glances. It made Kyria wonder. Why were they so eager for her to wear those flowers? They worked for the Queen, of that Kyria was sure.

Did that mean the Queen wanted her to make such a misstep? Did she want Kyria to- To what? What could she gain from such a thing? It was no secret that the King still loved aunt Lyanna. His behavior when he arrived Winterfell was proof enough. And if he was still attached to her memory almost twenty years after the Rebellion, surely mere months after it, on the early hours of his wedding with Cersei, it had been worse.

Kyria tried to picture the scene. A woman as prideful as the Queen, to be looked down in favor of a ghost. Twice if she believed the rumors about Cersei and the Targaryens. She mustn't have taken this well… Well, Kyria knew she would not take this well and she held no pride in her good looks. Or at least nothing compared to the Queen's vanity.

But that made no sense…

Unless… Unless she was trying to create discord between her father and the King?

No… Flowers couldn't be enough for such a thing…

Couldn't they?

This was not the point anyway. She was not going to do it. End of discussion.

"Kyria, please! It would be so pretty in your hair! And Sara is right, what wrong could that do?"

"My lady do not fret! I am sure everyone will admire our work!"

No. Whatever was the Queen's reason, she couldn't let her do that.

"If you want to put flowers in my hair, make them white roses. Or any other kind of blue flowers if you really must. But I won't accept Winter roses."

She couldn't risk it.

Sansa tried to bargain with Kyria for a long moment, but her sister wouldn't have it. She was decided on the matter. In the end, Maerys saved the day. She appeared in the middle of Sansa's plead, with one big white rose and a handful of little blue flowers. She quickly arranged all of it to fit in her hair, and the result was as perfect as always.

It was pretty enough to stop Sansa from complaining. Although, Kyria's sharp eyes didn't miss the quiet exchange between the handmaidens who had taken a step back at Maerys's arrival. She had to watch her back with those girls. She could feel it.

"Now go sister. You won't have time to prepare otherwise. You already spend way too much time with me." smiled Kyria.

Sansa squeaked, and flew out of the room, her cascading red hair flowing behind her. Except for the part that held the pretty pink roses. Once alone, Kyria arranged her small pendant -a Direwolf head- one last time, before stepping out of her room.

"A shame, those flowers were so pretty..." sighed Sara rather loudly.

"Wear them then."

The girl blushed.

"My lady I could not-"

She stopped her sentence, and Kyria smile, a malicious glint in her eyes. Caught you. She left the girls with their faces red and embarrassed, quite proud of herself.

Clever girl indeed.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The tourney was supposed to last all day. With a short break around midday, just the time for them to eat some food, only to start again in the afternoon, and last until the end of the day.

A long day indeed.

According to Father, it would have lasted longer had the King had his way. But Father had insisted that if he couldn't cancel the thing, he would at least have a small tourney. It was important apparently. Although Kyria didn't know why.

So, for this thing to last only one day, they all agreed to keep only the joust and forget the melee. Kyria wasn't sure if this was a good thing. From what she understood of the process, both things were bloody and wonderfully pointless. A way for those southern Knights to appear strong and smart she supposed.

Although she wouldn't bet on a knight's worth if a tourney was his main tool when he had to measure his self-importance.

But who was she to judge?

She was only a young lady who spent all her time reading books about all the things she could find even slightly interesting.

It had been hard to convince Arya to come along. Only the perspective of real knight fighting with a real lance had been enough for her. The place was sited right outside the city, in a large piece of land, covered with sand to drink the fallen's blood. Or so had said one knight as Kyria's party passed him.

Lovely.

"Aren't you a bloodthirsty little thing." had laughed Jory when overhearing them.

Arya had pouted wonderfully.

Oh, it was impressive for sure. And one small month at the capital wasn't enough to cure her of her innocent northern eyes, used to wide spaces and smaller castles.

Except for Winterfell. Winterfell was huge. A secret part, deep in her heart convinced her house was the biggest of all the castle ever built on the Seven Kingdoms. Harrenhall be damned.

It was foolish for sure, but oh so comforting.

The grandiose of the place, the large banners, floating on the wind, the soft warm Summer air, the bright sun lightening the dresses of all the ladies around. They were like flowers, brights, colorful, easy to the eye. They even smelled like flowers.

Kyria couldn't mock them. Her sister had taken good care to transform her into such a plant. As she had done herself. Only Arya escaped the little blossoms in her hair. She hadn't been so lucky with the dress unfortunately for her.

Small mercy of life.

Yes, the most impressive sight for innocent northern eyes, was the crowd. Lords, Ladies, knights, squires… Much more than the entire population of the North if she could say so herself.

Or, well, it felt so.

Kyria observed it all with sharp eyes. The peoples, the banners slowly floating into the wind, sigils carved in her memory with the accuracy of the books she had read about them, the armors shining in the sun. Kyria's eyes followed one, as he moved slowly with the wind, as red as blood and decorated with a familiar golden lion.

Lannister.

"You look very pretty today my dear," whispered Father against her ear.

He was escorting her, his arm secured around hers, as her sisters were escorting each other behind them, Septa Mordane's watchful eyes following every single gesture from her little charges.

Kyria smiled.

"You'll have to thank Sansa, Father, she insisted."

She didn't see her, but Kyria heard quite distinctively the happy giggle Sansa escaped behind them. Father answered something, but already, Kyria's attention was elsewhere.

She could see the crowd parting like a rock was thrown in the middle. The waves of the dresses accentuated the water-like feeling Kyria had of all of them.

"NED!" boomed a very recognizable voice.

"Your grace." bowed Father, a small smile on his face.

Kyria did the same, a bit tenser maybe. The king opened his arms wide and took Father's hand. His face was open and joyous. Or from what Kyria could tell, it was quite hard to say with his skin so puffed.

But it started to be a common problem with the King.

"Good afternoon your grace." pipped Sansa.

"You look very pleased this morning your grace," observed Father, his eyes slowly following the line of the King's face.

King Robert laughed. He did look very pleased. She hadn't seen a smile like that on the puffed face since Father welcomed him home.

"Of course I am you old fart!" _Fart?_ Kyria blinked. Twice. The batting of her lashes almost loud in the moment of silence that followed. "Think about it, Ned! Our first Tourney together since the last war! And this one exclusively for you! If this is not an occasion to rejoice, I bloody hell don't know what is!"

 _...Old fart?_ And this man was their king? Seriously? Somewhere behind her, close to Septa, she heard a barely disguised snort. Loud and cheerful. Again, she didn't have to turn to know who it was from.

"Your grace, as much as it seems to please you, I must warn you again. This is not necessary. The crown can not afford such a thing."

"Barh!" said the King. He almost shoved his tongue in his disgust. Kyria blinked again. Three times. Seriously? "Details! I am the King by the gods! If I bloody want a tourney, I have one! End of discussion! It there is one good thing about all of this mess is that I can bloody well do as I want!"

Kyria fought to keep her face straight. And to say that man was King…

As if he just heard her think, his small puffed eyes fell on her. He blinked. She blinked too, feeling quite foolish for working her lashes so much since he came to them and bowed prettily.

"Your grace," she said.

"What is it in your hair girl?" asked the man crudely.

Father was looking too now. Kyria's heart lost a beat. What was that? Since when he gave a damn about what happened in her hair?

"Blue flowers and white roses your grace," she answered truthfully.

The King hummed, his eyes traveling from her face to her hair, and for a horrible moment, Kyria was sure she had been fooled. That somehow, despite her insisting at checking her hair before leaving, Sara or Sansa had successfully put those dreadful Winter roses in her hair. Her hand hitched to take one of her locks and play with it, just to have something to focus her mind on.

She didn't of course. Bur good gods did she wanted it.

"Flowers hum? Not Winter roses?"

"No your grace. That would be… bad taste." she said, again, truthfully.

She didn't have to lie there.

"Kyria," said Father.

She looked at him, but his face didn't show anything. It took her a moment too long to understand her misstep. Of course. Stupid girl! If the King was not thinking about her aunt before, he would certainly now! Stupid foolish girl!

Clever indeed! What a joke!

Sansa, blessed her innocent soul, unaware as she was of the tension slowly rising between them, smiled and opened her pretty mouth.

"It was my idea your grace." she chipped. "didn't it look lovely with her dress? It's so rare to see Kyria wearing something so pretty. And with her hear in such a way!"

"Indeed..." grunted the king.

Kyria prayed for a quick exit. The gods didn't listen.

"We didn't think of this arrangement at first, bur Kyria hated the idea of Winter roses so we had to do something else!" continued the girl, with all the bright innocence of someone not yet used to the subtleties of conversation. And the price of the things unsaid.

The King's eyes were almost burning now. He kept looking up to down at her, his face more serious than anything else she ever witnessed. It sent a cold chill through her body.

"That's for the best," he said finally.

There was an edge on his voice, something almost dangerous. She couldn't say how, however…

Kyria took a deep – thankfully discreet- gulp of fresh air, only now noticing she had stopped breathing for some time now.

The King nodded one last time, more to himself than anything else, and took his leave. Quiet and thoughtful.

Kyria wasn't used to it, but she could have sworn she felt his gaze follow her as she walked again, on her Father's arm. The sensation didn't put her at ease. Quite the contrary.

Her hands were still trembling when she took her place next to her Father. She spared a look in Sansa's direction. Her lips were tightly closed and she couldn't even start to think of something she might want to say to the girl. She was too angry.

Good gods couldn't she had shut her mouth? She knew, of course, that she made the same mistake only moments ago, but to mention Winter Roses? As her first intention for her sister's hair? Had she even listened when she talked earlier?

"Are you alright Kyria?" asked Softly Sansa, as if she had heard her thought.

"Why did you talk about the Winter roses?" she hissed back, her voice as low as possible.

Sansa blinked.

"I thought-"

"I didn't want Winter Roses in my hair so the King wouldn't think about Aunt Lyanna. Did you even listen when I said why I didn't want them or you just don't care?"

"Kyria!" gasped Sansa.

"He could have felt insulted by what you said, Sansa. To so carelessly forget your family history… What were you thinking?"

The girl blushed and didn't comment further.

It took Kyria a couple of minutes to regain her composure and start to think again rationally. She realized then that she may have been a bit too harsh with the girl. She didn't think wrong, she had good intentions after all. But the idea of attracting too much attention, unwanted attention to her had frightened her.

She was already in a difficult position with the Queen and the Crown Prince. She didn't want to alienate the entire royal family.

Slowly, she looked at her sister. The girl's head was low and she was playing with her fingers.

A part of her felt bad for her sister. For her harsh word and the pain, she caused by it. But she was tired of Sansa's carelessness. Of her naivety and this determination of her at always thinking the best of every single person wearing a crown on its head.

She told her again and again, that the crown didn't make the man or the lady. She told her again and again that she needed to be careful, to trust only her family for she knew they won't betray her.

It was like talking to the wind and try to make it stop blowing.

"I'm tired of always warning you of the same things Sansa," she said softly. "It's like you forget everything I ever told you as soon as you see someone with a crown on his head. Are you that obsessed with Power?"

"I'm not!" the girl protested, a little bit too loud.

"Then why do you persist in such manners?"

"I- the King and the Queen-"

"The Queen would have killed Lady if the King hadn't stopped her. And she would have done the same to Frost and Nymeria. It would do you well to remember that when you talk to her."

From the corner of her eye, Kyria noticed the pallor of her sister's completion as well as the trembling of her lips.

She felt bad distressing her little sister like that. But Sansa didn't let her many choices. She refused any other solution. She seemed determined to live in a song of her very own.

As she sat there, reflecting on all the things that went wrong recently and all the things that could have been even more wrong, people were slowly gathering around them, all of them rich and important. She recognized the handsome face of Renly Baratheon, Littlefinger of course, as well as several houses, all colorful and looking richer than the next. At least Sansa had been right on this point. The tourney was a show for those in the galleries as well as those who were participating.

In the middle of this sea of importance and wealth, a simply dressed man tried to make his way to them. He looked awkward and out of place. As so Kyria couldn't take her eyes off him. What was he doing here?

"My Lord hand." called the man, finally in front of them. "A Brother of the Nights Watch demand to see you, my Lord."

Kyria looked at the man more closely, a pale slimy thing with white skin and pitch-black hair and waited for Father's answer.

"What does he want?" asked Father, tired.

"I'm afraid he refused to tell me my lord." said the man, looking strangely annoyed.

Kyria felt her eyes sharpened. Why was he so vexed? Did he like to have information? To sell them to the best master perhaps?

Or maybe he already had a master? Oh stupid, of course, he had.

Father sighed, tired and nodded.

"Alright. I'll see him," he said.

He absentmindedly kissed Kyria on the temple, rubbing her shoulder with his hand. His hand then touched softly Sansa's head, and Arya's hand, that she had held to him. Both girls looked at him with big eyes. They didn't seem to have heard the man.

"Father?" asked Arya.

"Enjoy the tourney. I will join you later."

With one last pat on Arya's little head and a finger on Sansa's chin, Father disappeared in the crowd, to the Red Keep. Kyria's eyes followed him until she couldn't anymore, wondering what was going to happen again to her poor father.

"Why would a man of the night's watch want to see Father?" asked Arya. "Do you think something happened to Jon?"

"Father is the Hand of the King," said Kyria. "I suppose the Night Watch need to go to him for their recruits."

"You think? Aren't the member of the Night Watch volunteers? To protect the Wall and the realm of men or something like that?"

Kyria smiled. Sweet summer child. Of course, that would be Arya thought of the Night Watch. She could guess easily from whom she got her information.

"That may have been true before. In the beginning," she started, "but now the Night Watch is often the alternative to a Death Sentence. Or any other kind of sentence including the removal of a body part."

"Lady Kyria!" protested the Septa.

"It's not because it's hard to say that it's-"

"Not the truth." ended Sansa for her, rolling her eyes.

Arya giggled. Kyria blushed. Alright so maybe she was saying that a bit too often those days. But what else could she do? It wasn't her fault if no one was listening to her when she talked. Someone in this place needed to tell the truth after all.

"You'll learn young lady that not everything is supposed to be shared. And not all the time." said the Septa with a strong voice. "Sometimes the truth is not to share, but to keep close to your chest."

Kyria blinked, astonished. She manages to control herself enough not to attract attention, but she could have sworn her heart stopped for a second. For once she had nothing to say to the woman.

It was true. Not every truth was good to hear. Or to tell. And not everyone should hear it. She thought back at her dreams and bite her lips. Wasn't it the same? If they were indeed what she thought they were, this was a truth she didn't want to share with just everyone. She didn't want everyone to know either.

Both Sansa and Arya were now looking at her, but Kyria didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say, to be frank. For once, the Septa was completely right. Not everything was good to share.

"Kyria?"

"What?"

"You… you agree?" hesitated Sansa.

"Yes," she confessed.

"But, you just said that it's not because-"

"Not everyone wants to hear the truth." she cut Arya before her high pitched voice attracts too much attention. "and not everyone is supposed to hear it either."

"Are you saying that lying is good?" asked Sansa, a frown on her pretty face.

"Sometimes it's necessary."

"Lying is never necessary." said the Septa. "don't be absurd."

"Now that is contradictory Septa," she said with a frown of her own.

"Sometimes young lady, silence is the best answer."

Hun. Better not talk then lie?

Why not.

Kyria was still meditating in this strange conversation when the tourney began. A couple of jousts took place without her taking notice. She vaguely remembered one of them, falling quite spectacularly from his horse, mostly because of the funny noise he made when he touched the grown.

But then, as she started to feel pretty bored by all those games, something new happened. A massive shadow suddenly hides the sun. She looked up, only to see a giant silhouette, perched on an equally giant horse. His mane was long and straight, falling on his muzzle and partly hiding the reins.

Kyria gulped. This man was dangerous. His armor was heavy, large heavy-looking were iron plates covering his chest and legs. She didn't know much about armors but she was sure she never saw anything like this.

"Who is that?" asked Sansa with a frown.

"Ser Gregor Clegane." whispered a voice behind them.

Kyria felt the blood leave her face. Baelish. What Littlefinger was doing right behind them?

"Lord Baelish!" saluted Kyria, her voice colder than what she expected.

She bites her cheek, cursing her damned tongue. Control Kyria, keep your damn control!

"Lady Kyria," said back the man.

She could hear the smile on his voice. Kyria gripped the fabric of her skirt to stop her from reacting.

"This man," whispered the man, "is Ser Gregor Clegane." his voice, as soft as it was, still caught her sisters' attention. "the Hound's older brother."

With the same sweet voice, the man then took great care to explain in many details the sordid story of Gregor Clegane, and his role in the disfigurement of his little brother, one Sandor Clegane.

Her heartbeat fast in her chest, as she heard the soft voice whisper in her ear. The words were harsh, but the voice…

The voice was the worst.

_I did warn you not to trust me._

Nervously, her eyes went back to the imposing silhouette, now ready for its joust. She couldn't calm her heart.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise." pipped Sansa next to her.

She sounded frightened. Softly, Kyria linked their hands.

"No please don't. The hound doesn't like to hear about this story."

"Then why did you tell us?" asked Kyria right back, her voice bite more than what she had attended.

Again with control...

Littlefinger took his time to answer. Kyria didn't dare turn her head.

"Well my lady, I have to confess a… weakness of mine," he said softly. " I never resisted a lady's curiosity."

...And she was supposed to believe that? That someone like him would confess any weakness? To little girls? No. It was a game. A smart one, she could give him that. But she could see through it.

"Besides, you are new here, I only want to help you understand better where you are."

Hun. Now that may be more believable. And confirmed Kyria's suspicion. He wanted their trust.

Silently, Kyria looked back at the joust.

One little minute later, she wished she had looked away. Or even better, she wished she had accompanied her father back at the keep. She didn't need to be an expert in jousts to know how bad this was.

The entire thing was spectacular and quick. As quick as a breath or the blink of one's eye. A moment ago both knights were crossing themselves one first time, followed by the usual gasps of the crowd. The horses turned around, the exitation was high. And then there was blood and cry and a silent as heavy as death itself into the entire place.

People stood around them. Then, back on their sit. Sansa cried. Kyria's hang hurt at her grip. Arya grabbed the fence in front of her, Septa brought her back close to her.

It was a strange spectacle. Where chaos and silence seemed to flirt together, softly, harshly around them.

And in the middle of this, a knight was on the floor, slowly blooding out. His neck pierced by a sharp piece of wood. Bubbles popping out of his mouth. Body shaking and gasping desperately for a relief that didn't seem to come quick enough. And all the eyes were on him.

Kyria's eyes were on the stick, but others were on the face and the life that left it soon enough. The girl's eyes traveled slowly on the stick, as it slowly drank the blood from the wound directly, like some kind of monster only heard in stories and legends. A wooden stick. So innocent looking.

It was all it took.

Disturbing.

And, in the middle of this confusion that seemed to pledge the entire place, the silky voice slowly whispered in her ear. Invisible in a crowd of troubled people. But there. Just behind her.

"Is it the first person you see dying Lady Kyria?" hissed the snake behind her. "impressive isn't it?"

It took her a minute to answer. A minute to blink away the fascination pulled by the blood still drank by the little wooden stick. She wondered what might happen once it turned entirely red. Was it going to bleed too?

"Yes." she shushed.

"You never get used to gruesome death like that. It'll always move something inside. A curious mix between disgust and… fascination." the man continued, the last word whispered with reverence. Kyria shivered. What was wrong with this man? "there's a beauty, in the way the blood goes out of the helmet, slowly drank by the dirt and the sand. By the wood of the spear. The way the limbs stop shaking after a time." there was something wrong with the way he whispered it. In his voice. Like he was showering her with words of love and promises of affection. But it was death coming out of his mouth. Death spoke of like a lost love. Adored. Revered. _Disturbing._

"I often wonder if one sees something as such coming. What was he thinking, as the jousting spear was coming closer to his face." something moved behind her, close to her hair. "close to his death. I wonder, how you react, what you think when faced with your own end so… vividly."

Her hair, she realized. Baelish was touching her hair. She froze, her body locked like a mat, rigid and solid. Why was he talking like that? What did this man want from her? Why was he telling her all of this?

"You are known to be intelligent Lady Kyria. I like to think you are. I wonder where you gain this spirit of yours. Your mother perhaps. She is a smart woman after all."

Kyria's heart beat fast in her chest. Faster than it ever beat before. Her mind was rolling a thousand miles at a time, without nothing coming from it. What was happening here?

_White face, dark hair. White face, dark hair. Rolling, rolling, rolling._

She blinked. No, no not now. She couldn't be overwhelmed by this right now. Not now, not ever. She couldn't. She just couldn't.

"Your Father, however..." he hissed. "well I never get the appeal of those northern men. Slow mind, quick temper… and annoyingly curious. I suppose it's a family treat."

He could have wrapped his disgusting long fingers around her throat, and the threat wouldn't have been that menacing. Her heart was beating faster than ever. Her entire being completely aware of the warm breath on her neck. The soft voice on her ear.

He paralyzed her like a snake paralyzes his prey before eating it.

_Trust me, trust me…. Trust me, my dear…_

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.

She cursed the trembling in her voice.

He touched her hair again. Kyria didn't dare move. People were sitting again around them, and the joust was about to start again. Her sisters were back in their seat, slowly whispering to each other under the watchful eyes of their Septa.

"I made a vow you know. To your dear mother. I said I would protect your family."

"From who?"

He chuckled.

"You are a clever girl. The way you managed to defend yourself from the Queen's accusation, back in the Kingsroad was a sight to behold. Not many young people would have this… easiness with words." again with the tone. There was something there."It's a rare gift. To be able to play with words so easily. Something I admire. Something you and I seem to share."

Kyria shivered again. Disgusted at the mere idea of sharing aything with this man. This disturbing sickening man who kept playing with her hair, whispering to her like a lover in the crowd.

"What's your point?" she asked softly. "there must be a reason for you to tell me all of this."

"Clever girl." he smiled. She could hear his smile. "I only wish...to help you. Those are dangerous waters you are trying to swim on. A helpful hand may be welcomed."

A helpful hand…

_Trust me, my dear… Trust me…_

She could almost feel the fingers on her pulse now. Around her neck. Threat. Danger. Everything inside her wanted to run from this man. From his soft words and his soft touch on her hair.

Go away _Go away!_

"Besides," he continued. "your Father seems to be very eager to… attract attention to himself. A dangerous idea in a city like ours."

_Go away. Go away. Far far away from him. Go away, go AWAY!_

"It would be… saddening for your father to lose this."

Lose?

"Yes, to lose. It is a difficult game he is playing. Losing is so easy..."

A game?

What game?

Politics? It must be politics. Was it a game for him then?

As much as she wanted the answers, Kyria kept her mouth shut.

She wouldn't have trust any answer coming from this man anyway.

_Only a fool trust Littlefinger._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The tourney stopped soon after. The knights needed rest. And food.

Septa took the three Stark daughters back to the tower, where they were to rest and wait for the other half of the tourney.

Kyria didn't stay long with her sisters. She took the first opportunity Septa Mordane gave her, to find her father's office. She needed to talk to him.

Baelish's acidic words had woken a fear in Kyria that she couldn't contain anymore. Fear for her Father and her sisters. She couldn't delay it with excuses and blindness she needed to act. Do something, anything.

She found Ned Stark alone in the room. His back at the door, his eyes locked in the window with silent contemplation. For a brief second, he reminded her of Jon. He used to do that too. Back in Winterfell, when she dragged him to the library to study with her. He looked outside when he was troubled. Robb did it too. Less often yes but still.

Something was wrong.

"Father?" she asked softly.

"Kyria?" he said back. "What are you doing here?"

"The tourney is over for now. It will start back on the morrow," she said softly.

He looked at her.

"Why?" he asked softly.

"One of the knights died. A wooden bit on his throat," she explained softly.

Lord Stark nodded. He looked even worse than only an hour before. A deep frown was digging between his eyebrows. She waited patiently for him to acknowledge her again.

"What is it Kyria?" he asked softly. "What can I do for you?"

"What happened? What did the man of the Night Watch want?" she asked softly, taking on of the chairs for her.

"He had… a message for me."

"What message? From Jon?"

Ned opened his mouth, but then stopped. He looked at her.

"It is no trouble for you darling."

Kyria bites back a scream that begged to come out of her throat. She needed to control herself. She couldn't get angry, Father taught her that. Don't talk while angry. Never talk while angry.

She took a minute to be completely calm. Control. Control Kyria.

"Father, how old am I?" she asked softly.

Ned Stark smiled.

"You could be eighty and still be my little girl Kyria."

She almost rolled her eyes. As sweet as the feeling was coming from her stern Father, he was eluding the question and both of them knew it.

"Father, I am five and ten. In less than a year I'll be off age," she said patiently. "I'm no child anymore. And, I understand that you don't want to burden me with your duties or trouble me with your troubles, but Father… I want to help you." she took his hand that was resting on the table. "please, let me help you. You don't have to talk to me about everything. But at least talk to me. Tell me what troubles you."

Father sighed and rubbed his temple.

"It's nothing that should concern you." he looked up then, his pale eyes crossing hers. "But you are right. You're no child anymore. And I saw, back home how you helped your brothers. How you managed Robb and Jon with their studies. My clever girl." he smiled, his warm hand cupping her face. "It's true you've grown a lot… More than what I wanted to see I suppose."

Kyria smile, excitation building in her heart. Did that mean she succeed? Was Father going to finally trust her with his burdens?

"In this case, you might be able to help me."

Yes! _Yes!_ In that case and any other!

"What is it then?" she asked softly.

Just as quickly as he gained it, Father lost his smile. He rubbed his temple again. The skin was red under his fingers. He might have done that for some time already.

"The man that came to me, is a recruiter from the Night's Watch. He traveled from the Wall with Tyrion Lannister." he started. "He… His journey to Kingslanding was troubled by a surprise meeting."

"A surprise meeting?"

"Your mother."

Kyria blinked. Mother? Why would Mother be on the Kingsroad?

"Mother? Why would she-"

"She brought me something," he said quickly. "On her way back, she found Yoren, the man of the Nights Watch, with Tyrion Lannister." he paused. " She… Your mother made a bad decision."

"What decision?"

He sighed again.

"It's not necessary to keep it for myself I suppose, everyone will soon be aware of this," he said looking tired. "Your Mother thinks it is Tyrion Lannister that tried to kill Bran. So she took him."

Kyria blinked.

"She took him? What, just like that? But-"

Tyrion Lannister was the Queen's brother! He was one of Tywin Lannister's son! Why would she-

"It didn't- Why? It didn't make any sense. Why would Mother do such a thing? With you here..."

Kyria stopped, knowing that her voice was louder than she intended. She needed to control herself.

"I don't know why she did it. Other than by revenge. But she did it." he looked up then, putting his eyes right into Kyria's with a seriousness she never knew. Not directed at her at least. It was a strange feeling. Intimidating.

Revenge? But for what? What could have done Tyrion Lannister to anger her mother in such a-

…

Bran? Could this be? But Why? How would she be so sure that Tyrion Lannister had anything to do with Bran?

"Kyria," said Father after a time. "I might need your help after all."

"My help?"

Ned nodded.

"I want you to prepare your sisters. We might need to leave this place very quickly in the following days. I want you to prepare them for this idea."

Kyria blinked. Leaving? They were about to leave?

She could hardly believe it. It was… It was wonderful. To go back home. She would love nothing more than that. Go back to Robb, to forget everything, her dreams, her worries, the Lannister. To finally go back home!

It was wonderful. Maybe too much. _Too good to be true_ a part of her whispered in the dark of her mind.

"There are many things I don't know about this place." said Father with a sigh. "too many. I came here out of duty. But it was a mistake to brought you all with me." he rubbed his forehead. "You should have stayed home. All of you."

They should have indeed… On that, she couldn't disagree.

Kyria blinked and looked back at the door.

"Will you come tomorrow? It would not sit well with the King to miss the event he asked to be organized in your honor."

"Aye, I suppose. And I intend to leave soon… The least I can do is try to make a good impression."

Kyria smiled. It was the least he can do indeed. If they were really about to leave, then the Kings needed his ass kissed a bit.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The day after that, the tourney started again. As if it never stopped in the first place. They were all back on their sits, Father imposing presence displayed between Sansa and Kyria.

There weren't many things to say about the jousts that started this thing again. Just like the day before it seemed dull and a perfect waste of time and resources. But then, maybe she was a bit too used to the northern custom to see the appeal of such games…

Or she just wasn't in the mood...

She did notice though that the King seemed in a particularly sour mood this day. He had arrived with Father sometime before the joust, his face grumpy and grumbling whatever that was under his heavy beard. Lovely.

Even if Kyria couldn't care less about the joust and was enjoying her quiet discussion with Arya more than anything else, she did notice Sansa's dreamy sight as well as the blood-red rose that ended up in her hand. Courtesy of a young knight dressed in the fanciest armor Kyria ever had the pleasure to witness.

Huh.

However, her attention was as sharp as a blade the moment the Mountain came back, enormous and as pleasing as he had seemed the day before.

He was supposed to fight against the knight that gave Sansa her rose. Sansa's plaid for the knight's life, as sweet as it was, made Kyria want to roll her eyes. Of course, she would want Father to save the knight… With such a nickname as he had, she should have guessed...

"And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you take your friend?" asked Littlefinger behind her.

Kyria turned just in time to see Lord Baelish make a large movement of his arm, in the general direction of the joust. Her eyes followed the hand and found the said knight, his helmet now put on his face. Kyria blinked, then swallowed back a snort. Did he meant that Lord Renly and-

Oh my... Was it even a thing? Was it possible? What a disturbing thought... Interesting…

They jousted. The mountain lost, to the surprise of… well, everyone. He didn't like it.

When he cut the head of his horse, Sansa hides her face in Father's shoulder. Arya stood, her little cry lost in the crowd.

Everything went very quickly then. The Mountain asked for his sword, and start to hit. The hound came then and hit back just as strongly. It was a sight to behold.

"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"

Just as quickly, everything was over. And Ser Loras was pulling up one of the Hound's paws, a bright smile on his handsome face.

Sansa clapped happily, her rose still in her hand, all thought of the poor horse sacrificed for his master's anger forgotten. Kyria watched her with pensive eyes.

"That was impressive," commented Arya.

It was.

She dreamed again that night. The same as the first one. The head rolling and rolling. She bites her cries in her pillow, and against the fur of her wolf. She had hoped that with the new of their supposedly imminent departure, her dreams, this one, in particular, would disappear. She had thought her father's decision would have stopped it.

It went right back at her face that night. And the one after.

And all the others for the weeks that followed. Always the same. Same crowd, same white silhouettes. Same rolling head. Same words.

Everything.

They couldn't leave soon enough.

She did as her father told her. She spent the days following the Hand's tourney preparing her sisters to the idea that they might go home. They didn't like the suggestion. Not one bit.

"Why would I leave? I am to marry the prince and have his babies!" protested Sansa one day.

"Syrio is here. I don't want to leave. Mother wouldn't let me continue my training." had said Arya not long after.

The worst in all of this mess, was that both were right. In their way. She understood them. She didn't want to leave either, to be frank. Not if it meant leaving their "dancing master" behind. So she came with another idea.

One day, as both Sansa and Arya were leaving the room where they trained under their dear Braavosi dancer, Kyria stayed back.

Syrio looked at her with curious eyes

"The lesson is over, child. Why are you still here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. If you don't mind."

One of his eyebrows disappear behind the heavy curls of his head.

"Do you? And what would you want with Syrio Forell?"

Kyria hesitated, her eyes back to the door her sister just went through.

"My father talked to me recently." she started, her eyes still on the door. "He said we may leave the city soon."

"Soon? And how soon exactly?"

"I don't know yet." she said. " but I wondered… Would you be… interested in coming with us?"

"Oh?"

"Arya appreciate your training. As do I. And I'm sure Sansa will come to appreciate it just as much."

"Aye you children are indeed interested in dancing." smile the first sword. "but why should I follow you?"

Kyria looked at him then, choosing her next words carefully.

"You want to. You do not seem like a man who would abandon the training of someone like Arya, would you? She's a gifted apprentice."

"She is." nodded the man.

He studied her, his eyes small and calculating.

"Will you stay by Arya's side until she mastered her training?" asked Kyria her voice serious.

He looked even more calculating. She could almost see the wheels inside his mind. She waited for his answer. Anxiously she had to say.

"I will." Syrio finally vowed.

"Is it a promise?" she asked.

Syrio smiled, and bowed, his arms wide and inviting.

"On my honor as the first sword of Braavos."

Kyria looked, one more minute. She tried to guess if he was serious or not. She hoped he was. She didn't want Arya to lose him. She liked him. And she liked his lessons even more.

"Alright then," she said finally. "I'll tell you when we leave."

"You will, child." he said, smiling. "But careful." he had after a second. "Wanting to leave is not the same thing as leaving."

Kyria blinked.

"I will stay with young Arya until she no longer needs it. But this is a dangerous place. Maybe leaving it will be more difficult than you imagine."

His voice was slow and more serious than anything she ever heard from him. It moved something inside Kyria. A fear she wanted so badly to ignore. It overwhelmed her for a second. Drawing tears behind her eyelashes. She managed to control her self, but barely.

Not knowing what else to say, she weakly nodded and fled the room.

This place was rotten. She felt it every day. Father did too. He must have if he wanted them to leave so badly. If only they could leave soon.

She was deep in her thought when she found her father in the main room. Agitated, and furious.

"Father?"

"We can't stay here Kyria," he said harshly. "I resigned as Hand of the King. I cannot do that anymore."

The last of his sentence was spit like venom from his mouth. Harshly, he put his things in a truck, his hands quick and strong.

"What happened Father? What's the matter?" she asked worriedly.

"The Targaryen!"

Kyria blinked. What? The- But they weren't even there! Why would that be a problem?

"Why? What do they have to do with everything else?"

"Varys." he spitted again, angry and almost hateful. " The Masters of whispers has spies everywhere. Here, in Dorne, the Reach, the North, the bloody end of the world. Everywhere!" he snared. To Kyria he never looked more like a wolf, baring his teeth like he was about to bite someone. "His little birds told him the Targaryen Prince want to sell his sister for a Dothraki army."

Kyria blinked again. Dothraki? Why?

… Oh, of course, she knew why. He wanted his Father's throne. But the Dothraki never crossed the Narrow sea. They feared it. They disliked any water their precious horses couldn't drink.

"Robert wants to send assassins to them. He wants to kill them before they can gain this 'army'."

"But- The Dothraki would never cross the Narrow sea," said Kyria.

"Aye, that's what I told the King. He didn't listen. He wants to kill children. Like he did with-"

He loudly pushed his books in his trunk, cutting his sentence.

"Princess Elia's children," said Kyria for him.

She gets it now. Father didn't want that to happen. It wasn't… it wasn't honorable. It was cunning. It was politics. He didn't want to even think about it. Did he fight with the King on behalf of the Targaryen children?

"Will he do it?" she asked.

Father nodded.

"We shouldn't have left Winterfell. Go get your sisters Kyria. We're leaving."

Kyria nodded. She needed to go back to Syrio first. Thanks the gods she didn't wait till the morrow to ask him what she asked.

She was about to leave when the door opened again.

"My Lord." said the man, pale and dark of hair. "Lord Baelish ask for you."

"I don't have time for this."

"He said it's important. It's about Jon Arryn." said the man.

Kyria's heart stopped at the same time her Father's hand freeze in their movement. No.

No, no he couldn't. They had to leave. They had to leave now. This couldn't wait.

Alarmed she looked at him. His shoulders were tense. His back on her. But he had stopped moving. No. No, no he couldn't! He couldn't do this! Not now!

"Father..."

"Stay here Kyria. Prepare your sisters. We are leaving in the hour."

"Father don't," she begged.

He stopped midway to the door.

"Don't go, Father. You said it yourself. We need to go. We can't stay here anymore. Baelish will only slow us in this."

"I have to talk to him."

"You cannot trust him Father!" she cried desperately. "No one should trust Littlefinger!"

"Kyria this is not your-"

"But it is! Father believe me, please! You can't trust that man."

He went back and Kyria hoped. He took her face in his large hands and slowly kissed her forehead. Kyria held back a weep. No, no no! They were about to leave!

"I'll be back in an hour. Then we'll leave. But I need to know Kyria."

"No you don't," she whispered brokenly.

Father left.

One hour later, a servant went to Kyria and her sisters. With news of an attack. Their father was to be brought back in his chambers, to be taken care of.

They couldn't leave now. As Sansa anxiously asked for precision, Kyria gripped Frost back, fighting her tears as much as she could. They couldn't leave now.

_Oh, Father… why didn't you listen…_

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you think? Good? Bad? Awful? 
> 
> Please, please tell me what you think! I'm really nervous now >< I think I said that already but I am not someone with a lot of self-esteem so anything you could say about this would help me!
> 
> I'm not begging but I'm close to it xD I know it's pathetic!
> 
> Anyway, as I kind of like this chapter. I feel like I start to show how much Kyria is losing the small control she has on everything and that she's very scared about that. But I'm worried that I was a bit too much. With Baelish and Sansa in particular. I hope you'll be able to tell me what you think about all of this!
> 
> I wonder if I should try again with other points of view. Do tell what you think about that ^^' I try to update every couple of week, so normally the sext chapter will be during the first weekend of february! At least you'll have a date now ;)
> 
> See ya next time!


	14. Chapter 14: The Rolling Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wheel is rolling. No one can stop it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back! Just like I promised! I'm actually very proud of myself for following my own schedule! I didn't think I could do it. I always spend a huge amount of time thinking back everything I write, editing and writing again because I'm second-guessing everything. So to be able to post this in time is a huge achievement for me!
> 
> I can't promise it will always be like that because thanks to you my wonderful readers I have a lot of changes to make to this story and it will take some time.  
> Now, on another note, I said I was worried last chapter about what you might think about this... Well, I must confess I'm even more worried now XD.
> 
> I just hope some of you will be interested in sharing their thought about this one. I can't force you to comment after all. And I thank a lot the lone reader who bothered last time. You have no idea how much it means to me that you took the time to share your opinion. Thank you again!
> 
> Anyway, for the chapter itself now! Well, there are a lot of things happening, and I'm very worried about all of them xD. I try to write several characters this time, and I'm not used to them so I hope I'm doing them right...  
> Kyria is going to be very pissed there, but, well, I did say it was about ot happen for some time xD. Poor girl! Why can't I write something sweet and simple?!  
> I also gave a thought about the multiple POVthing and I will give it a try. This chapter and the next one will still be on Kyria's point of view, but after that, I will soak my toes in the giant mess that are the different characters of the show xD. I hope I don't mess everything up!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!

**CHAPTER 14: The Rolling wheel.**

**Year 298 after the Conquest, the eighth month.**

**Kingslanding.**

**Kyria**

It was a guard that told them of the attack. Or, its details at least. The servant that informed them, one of the Stark's household, had already left, to help to attend their master. Kyria and her sisters had been left in the middle of the main room, cuddled together like puppies on the large love seat, in front of the fire. Arya was pressed against her, almost glued to her bodice, like she wanted to disappear. Sansa seemed more composed but Kyria suspected it had more to do with her desire to always be the perfect lady than a lack of feeling.

The wolves were around them in a large circle with their back on them and their attention focused on every single movement in the room. From time to time, Frost or Nymeria would let escape a low growl. A warning not to come closer.

Even though the memories of the Queen and her hate for the wolves were still fresh, Kyria was happy to have them here.

Frost growled when the guard arrived. Wearing Stark grey, he bowed to them, agitated. His face was white and sweaty and not at all comforting.

"My ladies." he started, breathless. Trembling maybe. "Your Father..."

"What happened?" asked Kyria, ignoring the trembling of his voice.

The man explained as much as he could. Kyria took it all, mouth closed and teeth pressed.

Arya protested. She screamed cried, raged with every new word coming from the man's mouth, denying half of them with a fervor truly impressive. But what could she have done?

Kyria hides her hands in her skirt, containing her anger as much as she could. _Of Father..._

At the mention of Father's wound, her brain had a startle. Wound, infection, disease, fever… Things were coming and going inside her head, without much of a meaning or a real sense. She knew it could be very bad. And she was useless.

_Father…_

She had to force Arya back on the seat at some point, for the girl looked ready to claw the guard's face out. She fought, of course, and calmed down only when the man exit the room, worn out from the trial of talking to them.

She pitied him, somehow.

Arya fell back against Kyria then, like a puppet without its strings. The new weight against her calmed Kyria and allowed her to try to gather her thought back in some kind of order.

"Oh, you poor girls!" chipped Septa Mordane, coming from the corridor with quick little steps.

For once she didn't even care about the wolves, and ran straight to them, wrapping them close to her with tenderness, not unlike a mother's.

Kyria didn't complain. As annoying as the woman sometimes was, she still raised them. And if Kyria hadn't many memories about this time, Sansa and even Arya did. She was familiar and reassuring in the sea of worries that clouded them.

"Why would Ser Jaime do such a thing!" whined Sansa on the Septa's veil.

Kyria pressed her hand. She had a bad feeling about this. Something was telling her she knew already the reason behind the knight's behavior.

"Lord Tyrion has been arrested by Lady Catelyn earlier this week."

Kyria had to stop herself from closing her eyes again. She found the man in front of Father's door, looking back at her. He looked stern. He had been the one talking.

"Mother?" asked Arya in a high pitched voice.

"But… why?" asked Sansa.

Why indeed? Because Mother didn't seem inclined to think by herself. Or thinking at all…To attack the Lions of the rock in such a way! It was stupid and dangerous! She tried to recall her discussion with her father on the matter. Someone on the Capital had told Mother that the dagger that almost killed Bran belonged to Tyrion Lannister.

But who would do such a thing? And why? Why put the country at War that way? Because that was exactly where they were going! War! How else could they call it when two of the most powerful family in all the Seven Kingdoms were at the edge of tearing each other apart?

Besides, it didn't make any sense!

From what she understood of Tyrion Lannister, he was a clever man. Father said he sends an assassin to kill Bran. He said he gave him his Valerian steel blade.

Why? Why would he do something like that? Why would a smart man give an assassin something so easily recognizable as his own? Besides, why would he want to kill Bran?

No. No, she couldn't do that. She was thinking too much. She couldn't think. Not now.

"I don't think it's something that should concern you just yet young ladies." tried Septa.

For once, she almost agreed with the old woman. Her sisters didn't need to hear that. But she was a different matter entirely. She knew it already.

Sansa didn't seem to agree also. She boldly ignored the lady. In any other circumstances, it would have amused her greatly.

"Why would Mother do something like that?" she asked, her voice as strong as she could.

"Lady Sansa-"

"I do not know why Lady Catelyn acts in such a way, my lady. I only know what I told you. That your Father and the guard had been attacked by the Kingslayer on the street. That the Kinslayer killed the guards and all the rest. And that now your Father is wounded."

Kyria closed her eyes again. Oh, gods. The guards. She didn't even start thinking about the guards! Jory! Jory had been with Father! Oh, gods Jory…

It was so much worse than she expected. Gods what a mess. How could any of this happen? Why would-

There were so many things wrong here. So many questions, so many-

Gods she couldn't do that now. She couldn't! This was too much!

"Why- Why didn't Father told us about-" tried Sansa.

She was distressed. Of course, she was. They all were. Gods they had every reason to be distressed! Even more so than what Sansa's little mind might be painting. Things were wrong, so very wrong. A wound on the thigh, a wound made by a spear in the middle of the streets with dust and dirt and- A fight and half their guards killed like pigs in the street and-

No there were too many things. Way too many. She couldn't think.

"You're too young to deal with those things my girls." started the Septa. "It is no business for-"

"OH BY THE GODS SEPTA, IT'S OUR FATHER!" snapped Kyria. "Our Father that was attacked on the street like a common thief. Our Father now wounded in this chamber because of a stupid mistake our Mother did. This is about our Family, and what they do! Of course, it's our business!"

Her outburst was met with silent stares and surprised gasp.

She couldn't. She couldn't deal with all of this. She couldn't deal with it. She couldn't think. She needed to get out of here. She couldn't breathe here.

Without anything else in her mind, Kyria dropped Arya's hand, and flee, right out of the room.

"Kyria!" someone said behind her.

She didn't care. She just had to run. Away from there. She needed time. She needed to think. She needed to understand.

It was no mystery why she ended up in the library.

She leaned against one of the enormous bookcases, just the time for her to take her breath.

Why? Why? She should have done more. Why her Father had to ignore her. She tried to warn him, to protect him. He didn't listen. Why didn't he listen? Why couldn't he listen to her? Robb did, Jon did! Why not Father?

_You are his child._

That was it? Was it all she was? A child? A child trying to play a game she didn't even understand?

_Losing is so easy._

Littlefinger had said something like that… But lose what? His life? No that was too obvious. This couldn't be. She didn't understand. None of it. She could only ask herself, again and again. Why? Why him? Why them?

Why all of this? Why was this happening?

"I would like to say it's a pleasure to see you again my lady, but it seemed like I arrived at the wrong time." said a voice behind her.

She turned around in a jump, quickly erasing all trace of tears in her cheeks. She hadn't even noticed she was crying.

Varys. Of course, it was Varys. The spider knew when to make an entrance. She tried to make herself presentable, as much as she could, with her puffed eyes and hairs.

"Pardon me, my Lord, what can I do for you?" she asked politely.

Manners, courtesy. Courtesy is a lady's armor Septa has said. Even with the Spider.

She had met the man - or… well, how was she even supposed to named someone without… man parts? - and as much as their short discussion about lies and court in the Throne Room had been interesting back then, it didn't explain why he would want to discuss with her in the middle of the library.

He wanted something. For what else would he come to her? Especially now, with Father attacked and cared for by the great Maester. She didn't believe in coincidences. Not here. Not with someone like Varys. Everyone knew of Varys.

She wasn't naive enough to think he didn't choose this exact instant to come to her. When she was vulnerable. With her father's attack, she couldn't have been more vulnerable.

Or maybe she could….

No. No, she couldn't think about this now. She couldn't allow herself to do that now. Not while-

No. This wasn't a good idea to think about that now. Thinking the worse would only make her feel worse.

The man looked at her, for a long minute.

"The question I think, is what can I do for you, my dear?"

Kyria blinked, taken aback. What? What did that mean? What he could do for her? But- why would he want to do anything for her? They only spoke once to one another. For a mere handful of seconds! Not even enough to comprehend their mutual characters, way of thinking or-

She was thinking this way too much. And in the wrong way.

She needed to calm down. She couldn't let her emotions overwhelm her. Not now. Not while he was in front of her talking in riddles like he likes too much to do. No, no she needed control. _Control!_

Think Kyria, think!

_Why would a man like Varys do something like offering his help to someone like her?_

Yes. Why? What could he gain from this? What could she offer him?

It didn't make any sense. He wanted something, he had too. But what? She needed more. She needed to think.

What could he want from someone like her?

Favor. Or course. He wanted favors. He collected them. How could this be otherwise? With how powerful he was in there? With all those little birds who whispered in his ears? Yes, it made sense. That was how he did it. Favors. Kindness to hide demands. Clever.

But dangerous. He couldn't be sure that she had what he wanted, whatever it was. Why would he take such a risk?

Again there was a matter of her position in this city. Currently: nothing. She was the daughter of a major house with minor influence. Nothing else.

She needed more information. She needed to concentrate. She could still cry later. Or think, or.. whatever she might want to do then. All of it could come later. Not now. Now she needed her mind and her brain. She had to put her head on this conversation. And nothing else.

_Control. Deep breath Kyria. And a clear mind._

"Why would you do such a thing?" she asked slowly.

"From the kindness of my heart?" proposed the man.

She blinked. And she was supposed to believe that? Not a chance. Something must have betrayed her, her face maybe, for the man suddenly broke in a smile, clearly amused. Was he- did he just made a joke? And something she might have found funny with that!

Nothing made sense today...

"You are a smart young person, my Lady. I can see that," he said, his voice suddenly more serious. "The rest of the players in this giant board we dare calling capital knows it too."

Board? Why a board? She was missing something here. Was it about a game? Was it linked to Baelish strange words? But what game? What game could be played in the capital? Politics? Was it about politics? It had to be yes...For what else could it be when everything around here was intrigue and stab in the back.

"A board my Lord?"

He blinked.

"Oh yes, I almost forgot where you were from," he said, something in his voice almost patronizing, that made her frown. Pompous man. "A board yes. For the great game that had been played here ever since Balerion the black dread had forged the Iron Throne on Aegon's wish."

The beginning of the Seven Kingdoms then… So she had been right. Power play. The game that determined who had the power behind the Iron Throne. Or in it, depending on who sat on the bloody thing.

"A game for the Iron Throne," she said slowly.

Varys smiled. He looked like a snake.

"Precisely my Lady." he praised.

Kyria blinked. He sounded disturbingly proud. Why? Why was he happy to see her understand such a thing? He was confusing. What was his purpose?

"It does not explain why you would want to help me. I have no interest in the Iron Throne, or who might want to sit on it."

_Promise me…_

She blinked. She couldn't get lost now.

"Yes, I get this is no interest of yours. Not now, at least. But you are a clever young lady, a very clever one." he nodded softly. "And I am sure given the chance you could be one of the fiercest players in this game."

"I do not want to be a part of this game," she said firmly.

She wanted her family to survive. That was all that mattered for her. Family.

His face morphed into a soft, almost caring expression, not unlike the way one would look at a baby. All full of pity for the innocent child about to suffer the dark cruel world. She frowned again.

"Ah but I'm afraid you won't have a choice, my dear. When one lives in the Seven Kingdom, one is part of this game, was it as a pawn or a player." he smiled and add slowly "and I don't think someone as clever as you would be content to be treated as a pawn."

No. No, she wouldn't indeed. No one played her.

"I'd rather have nothing to do with this," she said again. "I only wish for my family to stay safe and hole."

Varys nodded with comprehension.

"While I understand the feeling, you may not have a choice in this matter."

"I had," she said back. "I had a choice. I could have stayed home. I just chose not too."

"And why is that?" he asked.

"I thought I could help my Father. I thought I could protect my sisters somehow."

"Do you still think so?"

"No. Not anymore."

Varys nodded.

"Are you sure about this?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you had no hope at all, wouldn't you be back to your home already?"

"I would never abandon my family." she snared, with a new rage she hadn't been sure to possess.

Varys hummed, rolling on the ball of his feet. He bowed to her like he wanted to share a secret. His face was still the same, but his eyes held a new expression. Something was happening in this bald head of his.

"This choice you had my dear, this is between being the pawn or the player. You chose to come into this place, knowingly I assume. Or to a certain extent at least." she nodded weakly. "this is the first step in playing the game, my dear."

She didn't answer. Her voice stuck in her throat like a bad cough.

"My offer still stands," he said, putting his hands back in his large sleeves. "If you ever need my help, I'd be happy to assist you."

"If I assist you in return." she guessed.

"Well you could say that." he smiled. "now I am not going to ask you to do some dirty task for me, my dear. I'll only ask you for a small service."

"And what would that be?" she asked.

Varys seemed to think about it.

"I guess it'll depend on the service you'll ask me."

Of course…

"I'm afraid your father engaged a really dangerous path in his quest of truth and justice. Honor can only lead him so far in places like this." said the spider, apparently eager to continue their conversation.

She could have guessed that by herself. Her father locked in a room with the Grand Maester was a pretty good clue on the matter.

"In any case, I'm afraid he could end up in a very difficult situation. I hope you'll be able to, at least protect your dear sisters."

"I'll try."

Varys nodded. The glint in his eyes was back.

Kyria felt numb. Too much was happening. Too much too fast. She needed to think. To think and to act. She couldn't wait for the next thing to happen.

Lord Varys looked at her for a moment longer, bowed politely and disappeared. In a blink, she was alone again.

Kyria stayed in the library. She couldn't say how long. When her thought traveled to her Father, still locked in his room with the Maester -or so she guessed - she went for something that might help. His or her worries, it didn't matter. She read about plants.

Medicines came form plants. Maester Luwin had told her so once. Those books didn't have much information about it, of course not. But she did learn how to stop the blood of a wound with some herbs. Or how to reduce fever. There were so many things that could help so much if one knew where to look...

She could have learned more, but the majority of her time was spent looking numbly at the tiny words on the old pages, or the drawings of the plants she was looking at.

What now?

She thought about it with the intensity of a desperate mind. But nothing came. How to deal with this mess? She had no idea. She was scared. She wanted to go home. She knew she couldn't do that. But oh how she wanted to. Just go home and forget everything.

After what felt like an eternity, Kyria went back to the Tower. She found her sisters cuddled in front of the fireplace, Lady and Nymeria wrapped around them. Without a word, Kyria took place next to them and wrapped her arms around both of their shoulders. Her head resting against Sansa's bright hair. Frost came along, nudging her elbow comfortingly.

They didn't talk. They just stayed here, worrying about their father. For hours. Septa joined them, at some point. She sat on a chair, not far. She didn't talk for once. She looked at them with her old eyes.

Kyria thought about Jory Cassel, the kind man always in her father's shadow. Sansa cried against her neck. Kyria stroked her hair gently, her eyes glued on the fire.

_When you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die._

She didn't even try to blink away the words. What was the point?

They stayed here for a long time. Enough to see the night falling slowly in the sky. Arya fell asleep first. Then Sansa. She couldn't say when exactly. They just fade away like the sun in the sky. Their soft breath answering the wolves who hadn't left them one single moment.

She stayed awake though. Her eyes on the flames. Listening to the soft noises around her.

What was she supposed to do now?

Somehow, her thought stopped to be so confused. Like the cloud shadowing her mind had disappeared.

As Septa was falling asleep on her sit, behind them, Kyria's mind worked.

She already tried to warn her Father. He almost listened. Almost. That was the problem. In the end, his desire to find the truth had won the battle. If only they had just left when Father said they would. Everything would have been so much better.

But she couldn't cry on spoiled milk all her life. She needed to think. What to do now? Warning Father may work this time. Or not. He was already in deep deep troubles. And she wasn't sure that the King may let him go now. If only to rule his kingdom while he enjoyed his life. They weren't safe here, and things could only get worse now. With, the Lannister now clearly hostile, they couldn't just stay here.

They needed to go.

Biting her lip, Kyria looked down at her sleeping redhead sister. There was one problem with this plan...

Sansa was still the prince's betrothed. The King or even the Queen would never let her go.

As the night slowly progressed, Kyria wondered if the had lost their chance to escape when Father accepted to follow Baelish…

Gods she hoped not.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

She didn't sleep that night.

When the sun pierced through the night, behind the dark line that Kyria guessed was Essos, she asked one of the guards to help her put her sisters in her room.

Thanks to the gods for small mercies. One short hour later, the Queen and the King entered their apartments. She didn't even try. She stayed on the floor, her back against the door, and she listened to the voices. The Queen's was harsh and slow. The King was loud and angry. She heard Sara too, and Jenny. Maerys and Septa Mordane. She heard one of the guards. Then a door opened. Father room she guessed.

Her eyes stayed on her sisters, curled on the bed, Lady's large form displayed around them. Her flank serving as a soft pillow for their head. Nymeria and Frost were on the floor, their head low. She wondered if they could feel the vibration of the foot walking around the rooms.

Was it why they stayed like that? They looked attentive. On their guards.

Maybe he felt her gaze, for Frost looked at her, his eyes bright and smart. She smiled at him.

"Good boy," she said softly.

His tail twitched on his back. He wiggled a little, turning his body so he could look at her. Kyria's smile grew. She held a hand.

One heartbeat later, he had his head against her belly, whining softly for her affection. She hushed him sweetly.

"Yes, yes you're my good boy." she said. "you're protecting your back. That's good, that's my boy."

He whined again and licked her fingers.

Both Sansa and Arya stayed blissfully asleep, unaware of what was happening around them. Both girls stayed blissfully asleep all the way through. Nymeria climbed her bed and wrapped herself around little Arya. Her fur seemed to swallow her whole.

"Your grace-"

"It doesn't matter. Where are those girls?"

"They are sleeping, your grace. Their Father-"

"Attacked my brother. Their family attacked my brothers. I don't care if they are sleeping or not, where are they?!"

The Queen…

On her knee, Frost growled slowly.

"Shh, it's alright, boy. It's alright," she whispered.

She wanted to see them. Why?

For one wonderful second, Kyria portrayed herself running to the bed and burying herself under the bedsheet and hope to disappear. But it would have been properly ridiculous to do so. For once it would have woken her sisters who needed their rest. And even so, by the time she would have reached the bed, the Queen would have seen her move.

No, the idea was stupid.

Besides, Cersei didn't seem to be the kind of women to just let go if she found them asleep. She would wake them up. The three of them.

No, she didn't want her sisters confronted with her. She had to do this alone.

_Don't talk angry Kyria. Don't talk angry._

Kyria took a deep breath and removed herself from the door. Frost followed her, his flank glued to her hip, head low, ears straight on his head, listening. She took a step back, then another. One of her hand nervously went through her hair, in a vain attempt to smooth the mess of her sleepless night.

She didn't dare turn to the mirror, to scared of what she might see in it. She couldn't in any way form or shape look even slightly presentable.

But she didn't have time to do anything about it. Already the door was opening on the soft green sleeve of the Queen's dress.

Taking a deep breath, Kyria went to the door, one of her hand anxiously grabbing the fur on Frost's back.

Nothing happened. At first. She stood here, glorious and magnificent in the light of the day glowing on her back. An angry mark was slowly spreading on her cheek, vivid and painful.

Kyria's eyes stayed on it, not sure what to think of it. Did someone hit the queen? But who would-

Green eyes burned against her skin and Kyria stopped her thought. Whoever did that, it would do her no good to think of it now.

"Your grace" she bowed.

The woman didn't talk. Her eyes traveled on her face, her dress, the wolf next to her. There was anger in them. Cold anger, that chilled her to her bones. Kyria's heart was beating fast inside her chest, like a drum, that shacked all her body with apprehension.

It was impressive, to look at this woman, so soft and beautiful looking, and to feel so small. She wasn't even taller than Kyria herself. Or maybe of an inch. But there was something in the way she stood, the angle of her chin, the curve of her shoulders, sprayed back behind her. Bosom blooming with all the grace of a woman aware of her beauty.

She would have been a wonder if not for those eyes. Kyria was terrified by those green eyes. Of course, she knew she had to be careful around her. She was Cersei Lannister. The last name by itself was a good reason to be careful. Everyone knew about Tywin Lannister and his power on the entire Kingdoms. But there was something with the woman herself, that made her want to shrink in a corner and pray she might forget her presence. This woman terrified her.

The Queen's cold gaze traveled from her to the bed where her sisters were still sound asleep, surrounded by their wolves.

Then, she opened her mouth.

"You have fierce protectors here." she contemplated. Her soft voice caressing the air around her. "those wolves seemed devoted to you in particular. Have you asked them to protect your sisters from anyone entering this room?"

Kyria blinked. She didn't expect that. She took her time to answer.

"Lady and Nymeria are my sisters' familiars," she said softly.

"Are they?" said back the queen. "But they obey you too don't they?"

"They listen to every Stark child your grace." said Kyria. "we trained them together."

The Queen hummed pensively. She looked from the bed to Kyria, passing everything on the way, examining it. Her gaze was intense, and burning with a fire Kyria couldn't name. How could something so cold burn so high?

"Do you know what your father did little girl?" she asked, her voice syrupy.

Again, Kyria took her time to answer. The tone in the Queen's voice had changed. She was getting to the point. She was there for what she was about to say.

"My father doesn't tell me much about what he does your grace."

"Yes… Yes, I suppose he does." concede the Queen. "Why would he after all? You are his little girl."

Her eyes felt heavy on her, and Kyria would have loved to be able to hide behind her wolf. The tension was growing in the room. The air, difficult to breathe, suffocating.

She had to be careful. To think carefully every single word she spoke to this woman.

 _My sister won't forget what happened_.

She could still hear Ser Jaime's voice in her mind. How serious he had sounded that day, displayed on his fallen tree like the golden beast he was.

He had been right of course. Cersei didn't like people to talk back to her or her precious son. And Kyria had done both back then. But she didn't think about it until now. The queen liked to pay her debts like every other Lannister.

"You think you are so very smart aren't you?"

Kyria blinked. The woman didn't seem bothered with her confused look. She wasn't even really looking at her. It didn't feel like it. Her eyes traveled past her. Like she wasn't even there to begin with. What a strange sensation…

And that voice… Soft and incredibly threatening.

"You and your family. You think you are so clever, so brave, so… honorable. Aren't you?" her nose twisted in an ugly frown, erasing for a second the beauty of her face. "So arrogant. All of you. Judging us with your perfect family, perfect life, perfect moral."

There was something twisted inside the Queen. It seemed to be more torn and changed with every word.

"Your grace?" tried Kyria.

The queen didn't let her talk. Her eyes snapped back at Kyria with all her intensity. The girl jumped. The green eyes blinked and her face was smooth again.

"Perfection..." she said again. "What a strange thing it is. Everyone is after it. kings knight, Lords. They are all looking for perfection. In their wives, their keeps, their lands. But no one can obtain it." The Queen's hand twitched. "Perfection is a vain quest for everyone who does not already have it."

Kyria blinked. This was a strange speech. She didn't have time to think about it. Already, the queen was talking again.

"I don't like you," she said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

Maybe for her, it wasn't. Kyria wouldn't have cared if she was anyone else. But form the queen, it couldn't be good. Something felt wrong in the way she said it.

"You and your family. You have this terrible habit to judge your betters. I feel it every time your little eyes look at me. You don't like us, and you don't even care to hide it. Your little savage of a sister is the same. Dear Sansa seems to be the only one smart enough to know who to bow to." she smiled. "but then again, maybe it is because she does not fancy herself smart."

Kyria gritter her teeth, hearing the insults where they were.

"I don't like you," said the Queen again, "And I know you are aware of that. You may not be as smart as you think you are, but you're not stupid either. I won't bother trying to convince you otherwise. You're an arrogant little girl. So sure of her cleverness, of the superiority of her mind. Just because no one ever told you otherwise in this cold land of yours." she snared "My brother is like that too, the little beast." her poisoned green eyes went back on her. "You remind me of him. You're not as ugly of course, it would be difficult to achieve. But you have the same way of observing everyone around you like you were better." she frowned. The expression of her face was almost caring. Completely different from the light in her eyes, full of wrath. "But you're not. I want you to know that."

If she didn't know better, Kyria would have thought this was a bit of advice, rather than the threat she could hear under the calm surface of the queen's even voice. She observed her again for a long minute. Kyria's hand pressed again on Frost's fur. The wolf nudged her thigh in response. The gods blessed Frost. Her faithful friend.

"I could almost admire you. You're a brave little girl." said the Queen. "It was a bold move to come to the tourney with blue flowers in your hair. You do know what happened to the last Stark girl with blue flowers in her hair."

Kyria frowned. Something with the way she was saying it wasn't right. The words and the tone of the voice. It felt like… she couldn't say how it felt she didn't know how. But there was something here.

The only thing she knew for sure, was the words that came out of the Queen's mouth, and the quick beat of her heart. She didn't talk. She couldn't. Even if she had something to say she couldn't have talked.

 _Power… Power is power. Power is everything._ Whispered her mind.

Power… The queen had power now. Kyria did not. That was it. That was what was truly dangerous. For her, for her family. Power.

"I don't like being mocked. Especially by a little girl like you. And you seem to enjoy doing just that." Cersei said finally. Kyria had to blink the panic away. _Lady..._ "And I don't like being mocked by your father either. A man who attacks my brother in front of a brothel is useless in this city. Tell your father to watch his steps from now on, will you little girl?"

Kyria's mouth tasted like ashes. She nodded, numbly.

Finally, the queen smiled. It was scarier than anything else she might have said in this instant.

"Perfect. Good day then, little girl."

Then she was gone, leaving Kyria alone with her fears. Her leg gave up. Frost came to her immediately, like the always faithful guardian he was. She curled around his head, trying desperately to remain calm. Trying to ignore the erratic beat of her heart.

The queen had been clear. Kyria was nothing here. She had no power. Cersei had power. She had had all the time in the world to place her pawns on the board. Father had not.

_When one lives in the Seven Kingdom, one is part of this game, was it as a pawn or a player._

She had no pawns, no power, nothing. The Queen wanted her father gone. Kyria was scared she might want him gone for good. One way or another.

This was bad. Oh, this was so so bad. Even worse than she first thought.

"Kyria?" called a sleepy voice.

Immediately, she straightened her back, looking at the puffed face of Arya, still confused by sleep. Kyria tried to smile.

"It's alright Arya, go back to sleep."

"How is Father?" she asked instead.

Stubborn little thing.

"I don't know," she answered because she did.

There was so much to think about.

"Do you… do you think he'll be alright?" she asked still.

"I don't know Arya."

What else could she say?

She knew nothing.

_Oh, this is so bad..._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It took a couple of days for Father to even walk out of his bed. Sansa and Arya both went to see him several times. They were worried. For him mostly. But the sadness of Jory's loss was heavy on their shoulders.

Kyria didn't come with them. She couldn't face her father now. She was too angry.

She warned him, begged him to leave, to ignore Baelish and whatever it was he had to show him. But Father didn't listen. And now he was hurt.

She was afraid of what she might say once in front of her father. There were so many things she wanted to say, none of them were nice.

She blamed him. She blamed him for getting hurt and she couldn't deny that. As bad as it sounded she blamed him. She was still enough in control of herself and her emotions to know that she needed to seriously think about all of this before she could even think about talking to Father.

Unfortunately, she didn't have the time for that.

A couple of small days after Father's attack, the King went to a hunt that was supposed to last for days. He asked Father to rule in his place for the time of the hunt.

Kyria cried that night, her last hope of leaving the place soon slipped out of her hands with the King's hunt. She wondered, on the morrow if he had planned it this way so Father couldn't leave him.

It didn't matter. Not healed, and still, in pain, Father sat on the Iron throne and ruled his friend Kingdom.

Sansa, Arya and herself went to court one afternoon, to see it happening. For the first time in her life, Kyria saw weakness when looking at her Father. He seemed small, unease and painfully awkward, as he sat on the Iron Throne. The bloody thing seemed ready to swallow him all with one swing of her still so sharp teeth.

She didn't like seeing him on it. The large shadow of the swords made her shiver for a long moment after she left the room.

She dreamed of the rolling head again that day. The swing of the sword made her scream for the first time since she arrived at court, scaring Maerys and a couple of guards to death.

Sansa and Arya's eyes followed her all day. She didn't even try to talk about it. Words turned ashes in her mouth.

It made her realized, that for some of the nights she spent here, she hadn't dream. She wondered why. Part of her hoped it was because her presence South was changing things, but she wasn't so hopeful anymore. It had probably more to do with the absence of the old Gods that far south. She spends a long time thinking about it in the Godswood of the Keep.

"Are you alright Kyria?" asked Sansa softly.

One of Kyria's hands caressed her cheek without answering. Her smile tight and sad. They hugged for a moment, but Kyria never answered. She didn't want to lie to her. She couldn't.

Because she didn't know what else to do, she spends more and more time in the Library. Every day she would lock herself in a book, and swallow every information she could find that could potentially be useful. Anything she could think of. She was out of ideas, out of time and she needed to do something. So she tried to prepare.

But what could she prepare herself for now?

The Library had the advantage to be deserted by… unwanted presence most of the time.

She did cross Varys once or twice in a corridor. He bowed politely every time they did. She didn't like it, but at least he hadn't tried to speak to her again.

Maybe he was waiting? Waiting for her to come to him. She didn't like the idea that she might do just so someday. Sooner or later.

She was buried in a book when it happened.

"Kyria..."

There. Now she had to deal with her repressed emotions. Of course, she had. Why would she be able to think by herself for more than a couple of days when her father stupidly went and had himself stabbed in the leg? Because he was stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever.

Being stupid was another privilege of the male population.

Everything she had tried to lock up inside her, all her anger, her frustration at the situation, her fear at what might happen to them now, it all popped in her belly, like soap bubbles, liberating a fury she didn't know how to contain. Her fingers were trembling against the book when she spoke.

"Father..."

She didn't remember having ever talked to someone with such a cold voice. Even when she was angry at her brothers back home. She didn't remember having ever been that angry in her life.

Father sighed. He carefully sat in front of her and waited for her attention. She lasted two full minutes before the man's gaze became too much for her, and she had to abandon her book.

"Would you come with me back in the tower?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Why?"

"I want to talk to my daughter without the risk of people eavesdropping," he said easily.

Oh. So he could learn. She was impressed. Better late then never she supposed.

Maybe this was unfair to her oh so honorable father, but she was pissed. She had every right to be unfair. Particularly in her thoughts.

With a repressed sigh blocked in her throat, she nodded and followed him out of the library. On the way to the Tower of the Hand, she looked at the cane in his hand and his painful face. Part of her was tempted to let him suffer his slow walk, but in the end, she couldn't. He was still Father. And he was hurt. So she grabbed his harm, allowing him to support himself with her help. He smiled, tensed and pressed her arm. She tried to ignore her need to drop him. She couldn't be that cruel.

Could she?

They didn't talk on the way to the tower. There was something heavy in the air around them. It made her heart beat faster. She could almost taste it.

The sight of Frost, lazily displayed in the main room warmed her heart. At least she could still count on him.

"Good boy," she breathed, scratching his massive head.

"Kyria."

Kyria sighed and looked back at her Father's face. He sat in the large chair close to the fireplace and motioned her to come closer. She did it reluctantly.

"You are angry with me," he said, more a statement than a question.

 _Well, well Father, aren't you clever?_ She thought spitefully.

"I am," she said coolly.

"Would you explain to me why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Her voice broke on the last word.

Even weak and tired by his leg, he was intimidating. If not for those lines on his face, Kyria could have portrayed him back home, in the main Hall of Winterfell, lecturing Robb on something. Or talking with them in the Godswood.

She closed her eyes, aware of the moisture building itself inside them. Oh, how she missed those times. And to think she used to be impatient for things to change back home…

Foolish child.

"Tell me. What troubles you."

" Why should I even try to?" Gods she was so angry! " It's not like you listen what I have to say." she spat. It was impolite and very unladylike to speak to her Father that way but she couldn't help herself.

He didn't listen. He didn't listen and now he was hurt the stupid fool! Stupid stubborn man!

"I told you to be careful. I told you not to go, not to trust Littlefinger. I told you you could talk to me, to share your burden with me. And you didn't listen. You didn't listen and you- you could have been killed, Father! What would have happened then? To Mother, to Robb, to us?!"

"Kyria-"

"No! I tried! I tried to talk to you, for days. To make you listen. To- Why am I the only one here who seems to truly feel the danger of this place! I'm the only one who can see how bad it could turn, how hostile everyone is around us, and had been since the minute we left Winterfell! And every day it becomes worse! Our handmaidens are spying on us! You've been attacked! Half the guards we brought here are dead! Jory is dead! And you still don't listen!"

Why can't he listen to her?

She didn't notice she was crying until her father drags her closer to him, to wrap her arm around her. She wept a moment against his shoulder, not hearing what he was saying against the crown of her head.

It was almost too easy for him. He held her a moment, and she felt the anger disappear. She took a deep breath and lost herself in the warmth of his embrace, the closeness she felt with him. It was just like at home. Just like that day. The first day of her life.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the grey walls of her room, the cold air of the North, the warmth of the fur in her bed. Like this night, so long ago, the night she dreamed for the first time.

Maybe that was what she had to do. Maybe that was what she needed to do. Maybe she still had a card in her game. Maybe then he would listen. Maybe then he would start to be careful.

Maybe…

"It's going to be alright my girl..." shushed Father.

She sniffed, her eyes closed against the fabric of his tunic. He wasn't wearing his leather one today. Something rare enough to be mentioned recently… He must feel threatened since the attack after all.

"Father..." she mumbled. "do you remember? The night after my fall?"

"Yes." he nodded softly, his chin against her head. She felt some of her hair scratching against his beard.

"Do you remember? My nightmare… you came to comfort me."

"Yes, I remember."

"I remember it too," she said. Of course, she did.

"I never told you what was my dream," she whispered.

"You didn't have to."

"I do now," she said.

She did if that could make him listen. It was the only thing she could do now. She took a deep breath.

"I'm in the middle of a crowd. Full of white silhouette, faceless. Like sheep. All around me. All blinds, voiceless. But they scream." she started.

"What did they scream?" he asked softly.

"Traitor."

His arms around her stiffed. Good. She had his attention now. Ignoring the harsh beat of her heart inside her chest, she continued.

"They don't see me. They don't hear me. But when they start moving, they push me with them. They push and push and push until I'm thrown into something. A platform. A rock. Stairs. I don't know what it is. But I fall against it. There are other people. Silhouettes. There is color in them. And in the middle of it, there's someone on their knees. One of the silhouettes talk. I don't hear everything. But I hear some of it,"

"What do you hear?"

"Bring me his head."

He didn't say anything. Kyria took a deep breath.

"Then," she continued. "someone cut a head. And it roll, and roll, and roll, again and again. And the sun is burning my eyes but I can still see it rolling. Until it stops. Right on my feet. And the features are facing me. And I can see his face."

Her hand gripped his shoulder.

"It's your face," she concludes.

She waited for his reaction.

Father kept holding her without a word, not caring to hold the majority of her weight in his legs, the good one as the injured.

"It was only a dream," he said finally.

The tone of his voice was different. She couldn't say how. Frightened maybe… Or was she overthinking this…? She couldn't say. But she knew what to answer her father.

"I thought so too, at first. But then I had other dreams. Of other scenes, places, words… things I couldn't know, words I couldn't guess. And then, the King went to Winterfell. And I knew." she took the time to breathe before she continued. "I knew what he was going to ask you, the day you announced the King's arrival."

"There wasn't any reason for the King to come so far North, especially with the previous Hand dead," he answered.

It was pointless. But she had to keep going.

"Aye. But how could I know Bran was going to fall from the Broken Tower? How could I know he was about to see something he shouldn't see."

He stopped breathing then. For one moment, Lord Stark sat completely still.

"What do you mean?"

Kyria sighed and left her father's arms. The position was uncomfortable, for her and certainly for him too.

She sat on the chair next to him, her hand still in his large palm. Like this time, so long ago, her eyes found the tip of his fingers, flat and short, as someone cut them as they grew. The skin was hard and thick. From years and years yielding a long sword.

"Kyria, what do you mean by that?"

"A couple of days before… before the fire, Bran was climbing the broken Tower." she started. "I was in the kennels, with Sansa, Arya, and the royal children, and I knew. I knew something was about to happen. So I ran. I ran as fast as I could, toward the broken tower. Bran was climbing. He was close to the window, and I knew I had to stop him. He couldn't reach the window. He had to climb down before. I can't- I don't even know how I knew, but I did. I called everyone. Mother punished Bran, and for a second, I saw something on the window of the broken tower. White fabric. A shirt. Moving out of my sight before I could see the face attached to it."

Ned didn't talk. He looked at her hand, so small in his large palm. He gently stroke her knuckle, watching the thin skin move with the hard skin of his thumb.

Finally, he opened his mouth.

"How can you be so sure that what you see, what you dream, are not just dreams? They could be dreams. Nothing else."

"Dreams that I make every single night since this first one. Some I made for weeks, every night, the exact same. I knew Littlefinger's voice, the Queen's voice, Ser Jaime's voice before I even met them because I dreamed about it. I knew we were going to have wolves before Robb put Frost in my arms."

She could continue like that, but Father pressed her fingers.

"Kyria," he said carefully "I understand that you think those things are true. But Kyria, you can't be sure. Maybe they are just that: dreams."

"If they were just dreams Bran would have fallen from the broken tower and lost his legs! Both of them!" she snapped back, suddenly standing. "Father you have to listen to me! I tried to talk to you, several times, Baelish came to threaten us, the Queen threatened me! Varys came to me to warn us! People keep coming to me to ask me to talk to you."

"It is not your place to deal with those people."

"Even if it's not, that's what I'm doing! I beg you Father, listen to me this time."

Lord Stark sighed.

"I'm not even sure what you are saying."

She kneels at her father's feet, ready to beg, as she said she was doing. She grabbed both his hands and brought them close to her. Anything to catch his attention. Anything to make him understand how serious was the situation.

"Father, I beg you, whatever you are doing, whatever you are searching around the Lannister's business, stop it. Stop it and bring us back home. Where we're safe."

"Kyria..."

"Please Father." she cut him. "Please, listen to me. I never asked you anything. Not once. But now, I ask you. I beg you. Take us home. Take us all back home and leave the Lannister at their business."

"Kyria." he stopped her this time, his voice louder. "I can't do that. I am the Hand of the King. I need to assist the King in every way I know. I can't just leave."

"You can! You can if you want too!"

"No, Kyria, I can't. Listen to me," he asked. "The King is at away hunting. It is my duty as Hand of the King to rule in his place while he is away. Do you understand that? I can't leave now. Besides, Sansa is betrothed to the Prince. And no matter what I think of him, I can't just break a contract like that with no reason whatsoever."

"But-"

"No, Kyria, I can't do that. I gave my word to the King, to help him in this dreadful place. I won't go back on my word of honor. Especially when I gave it to my King and oldest friend."

"Father I beg you-"

"I will," he cut her, "however, try to be more careful. If it can ease your worries. But I won't give up my word, my honor for this place. It's too important."

Kyria opened her mouth, to protest, to try to change his mind. To do anything! But he was decided. He was decided to stay and to fulfill his duties. Anger grows inside her chest, hot and painful. Her eyes were burning with hot tears, of powerlessness, helplessness.

He wasn't listening. Foolish stupid man! Why couldn't he listen to her? Just once! Once!

" Damned your bloody honor! It didn't prevent Jon! It didn't stop me from falling! It didn't save Bran! Why do you chose to be honorable when we are in danger?! Why do you choose it over us?! What do you want to prove?!"

"Kyria!"

"No! You'll lose your head if you keep doing what you do here father!" she cried finally, found her words.

"Kyria, as hard as it is, I am doing the right thing. It is what matters the most."

"We should be what matters the most! Me, Arya, Sansa! We should be your priority! Not this place, not your friend! Not this stupid quest of- whatever it is you are doing. Us! Your honor won't keep your head on your shoulders! Not here! We are not in the North! It's not because you are honorable that everyone else is going to do you the same courtesy!"

"Kyria doesn't talk to me like that I am still your Father," he growled.

"For how long? How long until you do the next stupid thing and get yourself killed?!"

"Kyria no one is going to kill me."

"If you think that then you are the biggest fool than what I thought. And you are damning us all."

"Kyria-"

She left before he could finish. She didn't want to hear it make his excuses. Her heart fast and painful in her chest. He didn't listen. She tried, she tried again, and again. But he still didn't listen! Why? What was the point in all this? Why was she the only one who saw, who saw how dangerous this place was for them? She could feel it, taste it. Behind the smell, behind the silk of the dresses, behind the gardens, the tall rooms, the even taller towers, and the majesty of the keep, she could feel it. The danger.

It made her sick.

And Father knew, she told him! He knew! And he didn't listen. He ignored it, dismissed it! He wanted to stay, to help his big oaf of a friend and for what?! What was so important that made him put them all in danger?! He said it himself! Family first! Always first! But he still didn't listen!

Stupid man! Stupid stubborn prideful man!

Gods, why couldn't he listen to her? Why couldn't she do anything? Why did she have to see her father make all those mistakes without being able to act on it… If only she was born a boy. If only she was like Robb. Then maybe Father would have taken her words more seriously.

Stupid man...

"Kyria? Is everything alright? Why does Father look so upset?"

Kyria sighed, a hand against her eyes. With a movement from her other hand, she allowed her sister to enter her room. The little girl climbed in the large bed, in front of her big sister, twisting her head to try to catch her eyes.

"What is it? Are you alright?" she asked again.

Kyria sighed and dropped her hand.

"I'm tired, Arya."

"Of what? Is it because of your fight with Father?"

She wanted to be surprised the girl knew that. But Arya had become very good at sneaking behind peoples. She was walking more silently every day. She sighed again.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

Kyria only hesitated a minute before answering.

"He refused to listen to me. I warned him, several times, about this place and the Queen, the Prince, everything. But he doesn't listen. He wants to stay here, even though he knows how dangerous it is."

"You want to go home?" asked Arya.

"And you don't?" she asked back.

Arya shrugged her nose twisted.

"I liked it here. We can spend our days together, training with Syrio without Mother's disapproval. And the place is big enough to help us with our training. I spend a lot of time chasing the cats around the keep."

"The prince's cats?" asked Kyria with interest.

Arya thought about it.

"I don't think so… I think they are wild. They don't like it when I catch them."

"You do?"

Arya nodded proudly.

"You should try too. Catching cats help a lot if you want to be silent and quick. It's essential for a water dancer. Syrio said so."

Kyria huffed a smile, a part of her seriously considering the option. Maybe that could help. If they were about to meet the queen's anger or the lion's fury, then stealth may be of help.

Maybe.

Suddenly, an idea pierced her mind.

"Arya… you've become very silent aren't you?" she asked softly.

Arya nodded. Kyria pulled herself up with her elbows.

"I need your help then."

"For what?"

"Father refuses to talk to me. He doesn't want to say what is so important for him here that keep him from going home." she started. " He had been attacked already, and other people came to me - _to me!_ \- to threatened us."

"What? Why? Who?"

"The Queen, Littlefinger, Varys..."

"Who's Varys?" frowned the girl.

"The Master of Whispers."

The little nose wrinkled without recognition. Kyria snorted and brushed her hair out of her face. She needed to tie them back up...

"Why would someone like that threaten you? You didn't do a thing!"

"Because they have spies everywhere." she said with exasperation. "the three of them. They have ears in all the rooms, with everyone and everything. Why do you think we had new handmaidens when we arrived here? Who do you think they report to?"

Arya frowned, thinking carefully at all this information.

"They are spying on us?"

"They are spying on everyone," answered Kyria.

"But why?"

Kyria sighed.

"Do you remember what I said on the road? And the night of the feast?"

"About Kingslanding being different from home, yes I know." Arya rolled her eyes.

Kyria had spent a lot of time reminding her that. Maybe too much?

"That was what I talked about," she said seriously. "Father is looking at something he shouldn't. Something dangerous. For the Crown, for the Queen...Something he shouldn't be looking at. Everyone knows what he is doing because everyone is spying on everyone else."

"That's why you are asking me to spy on others..." said Arya slowly.

Kyria nodded. She couldn't deny it after all.

"I don't like it." said the little girl.

Kyria winced.

"I don't want to spy on people. It's not right."

"Because you never spied back home? When Robb and Jon were training Bran?"

She was manipulating her little sister and she knew it. But she desperately needed more information. It was the only way she knew. She didn't trust anyone else.

"Father doesn't want to go home, even though he knows this place is dangerous for us. I have to find a way to protect us all." she tried to explain.

"Why do you want to protect us? Father is protecting us."

"Not as much as we need to."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know Arya!" she said pressing her hand on her forehead.

She was tired of all of this.

Arya's frown, of course, didn't ease up. With another sigh, she grabbed the girl's hand.

"I don't like this place." she confessed softly. "it does strange things to everyone around."

"What things ?"

"Look at Father's sister… I don't like what this place is doing to him."

Arya didn't answer. She seemed pensive, her eyes on their joined hands.

"Will you help me?"

She kept frowning, not convinced. Kyria bites her lips.

"I don't like it."

"I know. I wouldn't ask this to you if I had another choice. I don't trust anyone else with this Arya."

She thought about it a moment longer. Kyria anxiously waited.

"Alright. If I hear something, I'll tell you".

"Thank you, Arya. That's all I ask."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The following days, Kyria tried to be patient. She knew her little sister didn't like her idea. She had agreed only for her. If she even started harassing her for answer Arya would close up to anything coming from Kyria. She knew it.

So she waited.

Until one afternoon, as she was slowly walking in the Godswood, watching the wolves as they took their daily breath of fresh-ish- air. Arya silently sneaked up right behind her sister, scaring her nearly to an early grave.

"Kyria," she said softly.

Kyria jumped.

"Arya! Don't do that to me!" she chastised a hand on her heart.

"You asked me to be discreet!" protested the little girl.

"Not with me!" she said back. "you don't want to spy on me too do you?"

Arya huffed and took a step closer. Nymeria immediately came to her, enthusiastically showing her little mistress the happiness her presence gave her. The oldest girl waited patiently for both of them to greet the other.

"I heard something today." said the little with a slow, soft voice.

"Did you?" said back Kyria, sitting on the floor.

She arranged softly her skirt around her legs while Arya gathered her thoughts.

"I was chasing cats inside the keep. Kitchen cats." she said. "and I found the Queen and Joff. They were talking."

"What were they talking about?"

"The Queen doesn't like Father. Or any of us," said Arya. "she said that to Joffrey. The Stark is the enemy."

Enemy? Seriously?

Well, they certainly weren't friendly, but to call them enemy while they didn't do anything against them was harsh…

"' Everyone who isn't us is the enemy' she said."

"What a delighted way of thinking," said Kyria with a dry voice.

Arya snorted.

"She said something else though."

Kyria blinked.

"She talked about Sansa. She said the little dove was stupid and naive. She said Joffrey needed to win her and turn her against us, so they could make Father fail."

"Fail what?"

Arya shrugged, displeased.

"I don't like how they talk about Sansa."

Kyria stayed silent, attentive.

"They call her stupid. She's not."

"You do it too. Often."

"I'm her sister!" she protested "I am allowed to call her stupid! I am allowed to call you stupid too!"

"Of course." smiled Kyria with humor.

Arya pushed her shoulder, sitting next to her.

"What do they want with us? Why the Queen wants to make Father fail?"

"I don't know Arya. That's why we need to know what the Queen thinks." said Kyria seriously.

Arya sighed and looked back at Nymeria, who, tired of her mistress's petting had gone back to chasing her sister energetically.

"I don't understand. If she doesn't like us, why won't she just let us go home?"

"Because it's not just that she doesn't like us, Arya. She sees us as an enemy. And do you know what they said about friends and enemies?"

Arya shacked her head. Kyria had to repress a moan. Why was it always her who had to teach them things? She was older yes, but still… couldn't they read from time to time?

"Keep your friend close, but your enemies closer."

Arya blinked.

"It means that the Queen wants us there, so if she has to… deal with the problem, it'll be easier for her."

Arya blinked again, her face twisted in a frown.

"She wants to kill us?"

"She might want just that someday."

Or even worse...

"Is that why you asked me to spy?" asked the girl.

Kyria smiled.

"The Queen is not the only one who can play this game."

Arya snorted.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It didn't take more than a couple of hours for Kyria and Arya to understand what this conversation was about.

When they entered the large common room of the tower of the hand, Sansa was prettily displayed in the middle, proudly wearing a sparkling necklace, of pure gold. With a lion. Right between her clavicles.

A golden Lion on a Stark daughter. Kyria felt the blood leave her cheeks. That wasn't subtle at all. Even a collar with a leash couldn't have been more obvious.

"Kyria! Arya! Come look!" she chipped happily.

They just had the time to sit on their respective chairs, that already the girl was putting her new jewel right under their nose, singing about her betrothal, the gallant Prince, and how handsome he was, how sweet he had been when he put this on her neck.

To Kyria's sharp eyes, the thing was a collar. Something you put on a pet to keep it close. Seriously disgusting.

"When did he gave you this?"

"This afternoon, while you were away! Oh if you could have seen this Kyria! He was so sweet! He called me his lady! He said I was his lady, from this day until his last day!" she sighed dreamily. "it's just like in the songs Kyria. I couldn't be happier to marry such a man."

Arya opened her mouth, ready to protest for sure. A sharp tug on her arm stopped her. She looked indignant, but Kyria silenced her with one look. This wasn't the time. They couldn't anger Sansa against them now. They needed to stay close now more than ever.

No matter how foolish her empty-headed sister was acting right now.

She continued her happy chipping for a good part of the evening. When Father came back, however, her attention went completely on him. As it usually was since his attack. She helped him sit and stayed close. Sansa had been very affected by Father's wound. More than Arya and Kyria.

It was moments like this that helped Kyria seeing the potential of her little sister. If only someone could burst her bubble of happiness.

Later that night, when everyone was safely back into their bed, Arya slowly sneak in her big sister's room. She climbed the bed and waited for Kyria to talk first. Kyria sighed. She was tired.

"We won't be able to leave now. Not without angering Sansa," she said finally.

"Why didn't you let me talk to her? She's being stupid!"

"She is yes, but that's why she needs us."

"Then why didn't you let me tell her!"

"Because you would have vexed her, angered her, and it would have ended in a fight that would have lasted for days. We can't do that now Arya," said back Kyria with exasperation. "We can't let our wrath and hot tempers have the best of us. Don't you get what is happening? The Queen is up to something and it's against us! If we grow apart, she wins!"

Arya still frowned.

"I don' t like this. I thought she was overall this stupidity after what happened to Lady. And this fight you two had."

Kyria nodded sadly.

"I thought so too… But you and me Arya, we know who this prince is. We need to be there for her. To comfort her when she'll find out."

Arya frowned still, a stubborn line on her forehead.

"Do you remember? What Father like to say?" tried Kyria with a small smile " When the snowfall and the white wind blow, the lone wolf dies-"

"But the pack survive," they said together.

Kyria's smile grew. Father's words always worked with her little sister. Or at least, often enough.

"Maybe you're right." concede the girl.

"I hope I am little sister."

They slept together that night. Kyria dreamed of the rolling head and screaming crowd. If she screamed in her sleep, the girl next to her didn't mention it.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAND CUT!
> 
> What do you think? Good? Bad? Awful?
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this chapter, to be honest... I like Kyria's discussion with Varys and Ned, but I'm not sure about the last part with Arya. Arya is one of my favorites characters and I'm very scared I'm messing her up with all the changes I make in the timeline and events.  
> And Cersei! Cersei is just the worst! I hate her, and it's so hard for me to write her form the point of view of someone who doesn't know how evil she is. Or, well, not yet! I tried very hard to picture her from Kyria's point of view, as a young girl in front of an impressive Queen, while she's still beautiful and impressive and not the monster we know later.   
> Besides, I really wanted this first confrontation between them so that we have an Idea of what Cersei might think of Kyria without going into Cersei's head. That'll come later ;)
> 
> I really hope I didn't ruin the character...that's my greatest fear! That I'll ruin one of the characters because I'm biased about them!
> 
> I hope I did the right thing...
> 
> I also tried to have a shorter chapter because let's face it, I write way too long chapters it's just insane xD. It didn't work out very well for this one... But I'll try for the others!
> 
> What do you think? Next up the Last chapter in Kyria's point of view, then we will deal with the consequences of the changes she tried to make! I'm excited! :D I'll try to post around the 15th of February, but as I said, I can't promise anything...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed all of this and please please don't hesitate to tell me your thought! I love to read you and it made me feel so much better about what I try to do!
> 
> See you next time!
> 
> Please don't hesitate to share your thought!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving quickly. Kyria feels the end is near. She has to try. At least one last time.

**Chapter 15: The Last Try**

**Year 298 after the Conquest eighth and ninth month**

**Kyria**

" _It was a boar..."_

_"… Poor King..."_

" _So sudden…. Too much Wine…. Too quick….."_

" _He won't last now…."_

She needed to leave. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't. She couldn't listen to this. This was too much. Too much for her.

This couldn't be happening. She tried so hard!

Why? Why was this happening? What did she do wrong? When did she mess up? She should have stayed home. Robb was right, she should have stayed home!

Home was safe! Home was familiar. Why did she do this?

She couldn't stay here.

As the panic was overwhelming her, clouding her mind like mist, Kyria left the main room, deaf to everyone's call. She couldn't stay here. She needed to think. To think and to find something. She didn't have the time anymore to slowly come with herself and her fears. The King was dying. The King was dying and there was nothing she could do about that.

Once he passed away, it would be Joffrey with a crown on his head. Joffrey and his mother.

_Golden head. Golden crown..._

_Rolling, rolling…_

No. No this couldn't happen. Not now. Not ever. She couldn't let that happen. There has to be something she could do! She had to try! Try, convince, talk, anything! She came here for this. Precisely for this. To avoid this mess.

She was scared. Terrified. Of what it meant. The death of the King. She didn't want it to happen. It couldn't.

At some point, the girl started to cry. She wept as silently as she could against the soft fur of her always a faithful companion. The beast tried his best to ease his mistress's pain, liking lovingly her cheeks, trying to erase the tears with his soft wet nose. Growling at any feet who dared come too close to the door.

It was mainly thanks to Frost, that Kyria Stark finally get a grip on her fears. She stayed a moment longer against the back of the massive wolf. Her eyes closed. Her heart beating fast, even as her breath was calm again. She could feel the salt of her tears drying on her cheeks, but she didn't move to rub it out.

She could have stayed here for hours, if not for the little mouse that sneaked under her room. Little padding feet came to her view, small and familiar.

"Kyria?" asked the soft voice of her little sister.

Arya.

The feet kneel and the small round face of the girl appeared, her big eyes searching in her sister's face. Searching for what? That was one of a question.

"Did you cry? You look like you cried. You're not sad because of the King, are you? He was stupid and fat and- stupid! Why would anyone be sad about his death?"

"He was Father's best friend," she mumbled back, her voice emotionless.

Arya snorted.

"And he's the reason why Father is injured now. He's walking with a cane! Father! That would never have happened back home."

It could have in fact. I could have happened everywhere.

"Anyone can be hit with a spear, sister," she said.

Arya snorted again.

"Not back home. No one would dare attack Ned Stark. He is their liege, Lord. They respect him! Besides, our family is powerful in the North!"

In the North only apparently.

"Why did you cry Kyria?" the girl asked again.

"Why not?" she said back, not feeling very concerned. "Joffrey is going to be King. I think it's a good enough reason to cry."

Arya didn't answer that.

The silence lasted until one of their servants shyly knocked on the door, softly calling for dinner.

For one second, she fantasizes about the idea of calling the girl off and staying there. But it wouldn't change anything. In the end, she would still feel miserable. Worse. Miserable and hungry.

Pointless.

Arya grabs her hand, and together, they left the safety of Kyria's room.

Father offered them a tired smile, the lines around his eyes deeper than ever. On instinct, Kyria went to him and wrapped her arms around his tensed shoulders. He looked surprised. They had never been fond of physical manifestation of attachment. It was something that wasn't done. But if there was one time when it was permitted, it would be now.

"I'm sorry for your friend Father," she said softly against her father's head.

Father sighed.

"He was never fit to be a King," he said softly. "He wasn't happy as a King. Maybe it's for the best."

"But he was still your friend."

Father nodded.

"He was. A long time ago."

"A long time ago?" asked Arya. "I thought he was still your friend."

Father sighed again.

"That man we welcomed at Winterfell, was very different than the man I used to know."

"Different? How? He was the King!" said Sansa candidly.

Sometimes Kyria felt like she was talking to the wind with Sansa.

"He wasn't like that before the Rebellion." said Father. "he wasn't so… so lifeless. I think this place did something to him. Made him lose part of himself."

The funny thing was that this city seemed to have the same effect on him. He looked more tired every day. More...fading. Kyria kept her mouth closed.

"But why? It's the capital! And he was the King, the most powerful man in all the seven Kingdoms!" chipped Sansa with confused eyes.

Again, talking to the wind… From the corner of her eyes, Kyria caught Arya rolling her eyes very hard. She bites back a small smile. Father snorted silently and patted Kyria's hand around his neck.

"Anyway, we won't stay here for long," he said confidently, his voice suddenly way louder.

Oh, thank gods.

"What?"

"Father!"

"What do you mean?"

"No! I don't want to leave! I'm to marry Joffrey!"

"Girls!" cut Father, his voice caring in the middle of the high pitched screams of his daughters.

The smaller girls fell silent in the same motion, their eyes burning with the need to share their minds. Kyria bites her lips.

"We are leaving soon. End of discussion. I came here to help my friend. With my friend dying, we are not needed there anymore."

"But Father, I'm supposed to marry Prince Joffrey and to have his babies!" protested Sansa.

Father grabbed her hand in his. Kyria took this opportunity to sit next to Arya who was frowning.

"You don't want to leave either do you?" she asked softly.

Arya nodded.

"I like it there." she pouted.

It took Kyria a second to understand why.

"It's because of Syrio isn't it?"

Arya nodded with a stronger put.

"Mother won't let me continue my training," she complained.

Kyria couldn't deny that.

"But it's him I want!" cut Sansa, her voice high pitched and very annoying.

She stood loudly, and left the room furiously, her cheeks red with anger and her steps quick. Kyria looked at her other sister, confused.

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes founding her father's on the other side of the table.

Father rubbed his face with both his hands.

"She does not want to leave and dissolve her betrothal with the Prince," he said simply.

Kyria blinked slowly. She didn't even think it was possible. The boy was the crown prince, to dissolve a contract with him might be dangerous for Sansa's reputation. As well as their family's. But then… the boy said they were his enemies. Maybe he'll do the job instead of them?

That said, she wasn't sure if this was better…

Gods what a mess…

"She's stupid! She knows how he is! He thinks we are the enemy! Why would she want to stay with this prick!?" she said furiously.

Father's eyes were sharp suddenly.

"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

Arya blushed. "I heard him talk with the Queen. He said all the Stark are their enemies."

Father hummed pensively.

"I need to think."

Kyria blinked as Father stood up, ready to leave the room. She opened her mouth, to stop him maybe. Or to ask something. Anything. But nothing came to her mind.

She watched him leave the room, deep in his thought. A part of her was screaming to follow him, to talk to him. To try again, one last time to convince him to leave. Just leave this place without turning back.

It was foolish. He already said they were leaving. Why would she feel the need to convince him to do something he was already doing?

Unless… Her instinct had already fooled her. Preventing her about Bran, only to punish her later.

But they also helped her save Lady back on the road.

"Kyria?" asked Arya somewhere next to her.

In the end, she decided it without really thinking about it. Abruptly, she stood up and followed her father's steps, mumbling some excuse to her sister on the way.

She found him close to his chambers. His head low and his breath loud.

"Father?" she asked softly.

He sighed.

"Not now Kyria."

"Father please," she said again.

He sighed.

"Kyria..."

" I just need-" she sighed. Not angry. Don't talk while angry. "Father, what is about to happen now? What will you do?"

"Kyria this is not the time to-"

"But it is! Father, I told you what I saw! Your head falling from your shoulders, the King asking for your head-"

"Kyria I told you-"

"I wasn't talking about Robert Father!" she cut him right in his sentence. "The King had gold on his head. Under the crown. Like Joffrey." she said her voice quick and frightened.

She didn't like thinking about it. Talking was even worse. But it was so frustrating, to tell him the same thing again and again. And to see him not listening. Again and again.

But it didn't matter. He needed to understand. He needed to listen. This time she had to make him listen.

Father sighed.

"I understand those dreams are frightening you. But this is important Kyria. The King is dying. And with-"

He stopped a troubled expression on his face. Kyria blinked.

"With what?"

"I shouldn't talk about this with you. This is not something you should carry. This isn't your burden."

"But it has to be yours?" she said back. "Father, please. Let me help you-"

"I can't tell you this Kyria. This could cost you your life! This is treason."

Kyria blinked.

"So you can know a secret that could cost your head, but I can't?"

"You are my daughter Kyria. I can't ask you that."

"You are not asking! Father please-"

He cut her again, his strong hands on each of his shoulders.

"Kyria. You are my daughter. My girl. I must protect you and your sisters. Do you understand?"

She couldn't accept that. She came here to protect him. To protect them all. Why couldn't he know that? Why couldn't he understand? She explained it though! She told him of her dreams.

She told him and still, he couldn't listen. Why couldn't he listen? Why did this have to happen like this?

Father kissed her head.

"I know you are worried. You are wise to be so. Maybe more than me. But trust me, my child. Trust that I do what is right."

The honorable way. She could hear it in his voice. In the way, he looked at them. Gods she could practically hear him think. The honorable way. As if honor could save him here. As if everyone around him would do the same for him.

Why would he- Why was he so stubborn?!

"Do not trouble yourself, child. We are leaving this place, that I can promise you."

But he couldn't. He couldn't promise anything. Because he wasn't listening. He wasn't listening and she kept dreaming night after night, of the same thing. The very thing she was trying so hard to prevent since she left Winterfell in this stupid cart.

Why couldn't he listen!?

_Don't talk while angry. Don't talk angrily. Not angry. Never angry._

"Why can't we leave now?" she asked finally. "We could leave on the morrow and be done with this place."

" Kyria I can't abandon the King on his dying bed." protested Lord Stark a strong frown on his face. " I wouldn't be better than a deserter on the battlefield."

Honor again. She tried very hard to control the wave of pure, hot fury that burned in her tummy.

"We know he's dying Father. He won't last! We could at least be able to leave right after."

"No Kyria," he said again. "The King gave me a task. Something to do after his death."

Kyria blinked. A cold chill suddenly running through her spine. What task? What else could this fat drunk ask from their family? From Father? He had been wounded already because of him. What else?

"What task?" she asked softly.

A part of her didn't want him to answer. She knew to dip down she wasn't going to like it.

Like often, her guts weren't wrong.

"The King named me protector of the Realm until his rightful heir comes of age," said Father solemnly.

Protector of the-

"What?"

Father blinked, his tired eyes glowing in the quiet light of the corridor.

"Protector of the realm? But- Father! You said we were leaving! You promised me not a second ago we were close to leaving this place for good!"

"I did, and I still intend to carry my word."

"And how can we leave if you have to rule for the little monster we call a Prince!" cried the girl.

"Kyria mind your words!"

"I won't! Father you promised!" she said again, louder.

It was childish, but she was sicked of being ignored and dismissed.

With another frown, Father guides her inside his office, shutting quietly the door behind him.

"You will lower your voice right now young lady," he said sternly. "I did promise that you were about to leave this city and I intend to keep this promise."

It took a full minute for Kyria to completely understand what her Father was trying to say.

"You plan to stay behind..." she whispered finally.

He didn't answer. He didn't have too. It was clear suddenly, so clear in front of her eyes.

"You found it."

"I found what?"

"Whatever it was that you were looking for. You found it and you want to act on it." she resonated softly. "that's why you're sending us away! It's dangerous! It's- Oh it's treason! That's it! The thing you don't want to tell me! That's what you were searching for sniffing all around the keep as a dog on a bone!"

"Kyria mind your words!"

"They are not my words Father!" she protested back. Fuck restrain! She was angry now. "Don't you understand? Do you even listen to me? Everyone in this damned city keeps coming to me with threats and words of advice that I am supposed to pass you, and yet each time you ignore me! What can I do to make you understand?"

"Understand what?"

"That this fucking city will have no rest until you die and doom us all!" she screamed right on his face.

His lips went white and his eyes burned with this anger she oh so rarely saw on his face. But she couldn't stop. Not now. She needed him to listen, to understand, truly understand this time.

"I tried and tried again but you just don't listen! You ignore me every time! Littlefinger threatened us and warned me, The Queen threatened us, Varys warned me- Jaime fucking Lannister warned me against his sister's anger! And you don't listen! You want to stay here to do whatever it is you want to do and you put us all in danger! Not just me, or Sansa and Arya, but Robb too! And Mother and Bran and Rickon! All because you want to be honorable and do the right thing! It's a viper nest here Father! You said it yourself! We are powerless here! We are nothing! You know that I know that and I spend weeks hammering it in my sister's head! But still, you want to stay! And for what?! Because honor commands it?! Honor won't save you here Father! They will do anything to broke you if it is what they want! Why is your honor more important than our lives Father? Then our family?! Tell me why!?"

"Enough Kyria!" boomed Lord Stark, his body radiating the authority of the great Warden of the North he was.

Kyria's jaw cracked shut by herself. Her shoulders were trembling, her eyes were burning. She couldn't tell if it was from the fury that inhabited her for all her speech or if it was the hurt of being shut out by her Father so violently. Like a little girl that made a mess.

She kept shaking. Anger, shame, sadness. She was powerless. Powerless and useless. She fought very hard not to cry.

"I know you are afraid. But you have to understand this my girl: in this world, our words mean everything. Do you understand that? I gave my word to the King. I have to keep it. I gave my word that I would do what was right. I will keep that word too."

"Right? Right for who?" she asked back. "Us? Them? What right could this be if we all end up dead?"

"We won't Kyria! I know this is difficult. I know you are afraid, but I know what I am doing you have to trust me, child."

"And you have to trust me, Father," she said, ashamed of the trembling of her voice.

Kyria could feel the burning of her eyes, the tears gathered under her eyelashes. She knew it made her eyes shiny and wet. She knew she must have looked pathetic. But what difference could this make? She was alone. He refused to listen. Just like Sansa, it was as if she talked to the wind. She wiped her nose and looked back.

"When you end up in the black cells for doing what is right, don't expect me not to tell you I told you so."

Kyria didn't let him say anything else. There was nothing she would want to hear from him now. Not today. Not after that.

She runs. Her hands were still shaking when she reached her room. Frost stood to welcome her his tail waving behind him. She pets him for a time. Softly brushing the fur of his head. The ones on his neck, his back. She watches her fingers disappear between the hairs. She thought of how his fur used to be so much thicker in the North. When the weather was not so warm.

After some time, she went to bed. She didn't bother for a maid and step out of her dress by herself. Then, her long hair cascading around her, she curled under the sheet rolled in a ball as small as she could. With her eyes closed, she could almost believe she was back home. In her room.

She didn't sleep much.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

On the following morrow, Kyria left her room with a clear mind and an even clearer set of course. She broke her feast with her Father and sister, speaking sporadically to each of them, not interested in the conversation they may have. Then, it was time for the girls' lesson with Septa Mordane. Arya wanted to escape like she often did, and this time, Kyria let her. Better even, she accompanied her. She knew the girl's intentions and seeing Syrio earlier than usual could only help her. She needed to talk to him.

They found the previous first sword of Braavos in his usual room, slowly practicing his moves with two of the wooden swords they used. Kyria smiled and removed her long dress. She was wearing a sleeveless southern dress, tied to the side like the one the Queen like to wear. It was easy to remove and even easier to hide her trousers and shirt under it. Her hair was tied firmly in a braid on her back, through her bottom.

Arya hadn't bothered hiding her boy's like clothes and was already going for the chest where they put the wooden swords.

"Well well," said Syrio, one of his swords pointed at Kyria. "Another boy today?"

"Apparently," she said softly.

Syrio smiled.

"Well, then this child will learn like its sister."

"Of course," she said again.

Of course, learn would have been a very pretentious word to use. Compared to Arya's always growing ease at the activity, she was pitiful. Not as much as the first time she joined them, of course. But still, it was pretty pathetic.

At least she could move without feeling awkward now.

"Good!" said Syrio.

"Is it true?" she bites back frustratingly.

"You don't think so?"

"I think I look like a bloody fool."

With one swift of his sword, Kyria was unharmed again. She throws her arms up to her head almost screaming her frustration. Behind her, Arya giggled.

"Seven hells, and you call that good?! I'm pathetic!"

"Are you child?" asked Syrio.

"How do you call that?"

"Lack of will," he said his smile gone.

Kyria blinked.

"Your mind is elsewhere. You are not thinking about what you are doing." he said walking around her. "if your mind is not in what you are doing, you die." his last word followed the wooden sword on her throat.

"I do have some problems running on those days," she said ironically.

"Problems? Troubles? What are those? Why do they matter in a fight? Are you fighting your troubles?"

"Not with a wooden sword-"

"No you re not." he cut her. "You don't fight troubled with a wooden sword. You fight men." he pressed the tip of the sword on her cheek. "You fight men. Then you deal with troubles. You can't do both."

Kyria bites back a swear.

"Why are you troubled?"

"My Father is in danger here. My sisters are in danger here. I am in danger here. And I don't even know if we will be able to leave."

Arya gasped behind her. Syrio looked at her.

"You believe in your gods don't you?"

Kyria blinked again. What did that have to do with everything else?

"The old gods," she answered.

Who else with the visions she had? Visions that strangely started the day she fell and hit her head. In the middle of the Godswood. Besides, green seeing was a gift coming from the Old gods.

Of course, it couldn't come from anyone else than the old gods.

Besides, she never liked the faith of the seven. Too many rules. Too many forbidden things. Too many vows to swear.

"Ah. The old gods. Do you know my gods child?"

Kyria shacked her head. She knew there were many religions in Braavos. More than anywhere else in the world. She couldn't pretend to guess which one a man like Syrio would follow.

"Syrio Forell have only one god. The only god that matters. Do you know his name?"

Kyria shacked her head.

"No? You should, child. The both of you should." his voice carried louder, as his eyes traveled from her to Arya a few feet backward. "There is only one god that truly matters. And we all pray him. Old and young. Religious or not. His name is Death."

Syrio took a step back, and held a sword to her, pommel in front of her.

"And there is only one thing, a child like you should say to the God of Death."

"What is it?" asked Arya on her back.

"Not today!"

Kyria blinked. Not today?

…

That made sense… oddly.

"Do you understand, child?" Kyria nodded. "Good. In position."

She obeyed. Syrio hit again, and Kyria twisted her body to dodge the hit. Then she hit, to the left, to the right. Syrio changed the way he was holding his sword, and Kyria took a step back.

"Good. This child is learning," said Syrio.

Then he hit again, and Kyria's sword fell from her hand.

"But there is still a long way to go," he said with a smile.

Kyria sighed.

"And what of the other child?"

Arya jumped. She happily took the sword and position her feet to face the Braavosi. They fought and Kyria stayed right where she was, watching them silently. Her idea still fresh on her mind.

For that, however, she needed to wait until the end of this session.

She watched Arya move smoothly, softly, mimicking every move Syrio made. She lost of course, but she lasts longer than Kyria did.

"Good." Syrio said. "did you see, child?" he looked at Kyria again. "where is the difference between this child and you?"

Kyria took a minute to think.

"She's smaller."

Syrio laughed.

"That she is. Smaller target. But I am taller and I beat you too. Why is that?"

Kyria frowned.

"I don't know, you're better than me. You're a fighter. You fought for years. I'm a beginner."

The wooden sword hit her before she could even see it coming.

"Aouch!"

"Being a beginner is no excuse. Do you know why you lose?"

"No I don't." she snapped.

"You lose because you don't move enough. You are weak. A weak little child with no strength in her arms. You'll never win against a grown man. Not even against a half-grown one. Your only chance is to be quicker, and lighter than the man in front of you. And you can not do that by staying grounded on those two feet of yours." he pat the tip of his sword against her head. "you have to be quick."

"I have to start chasing cats that's what you are saying don't you?" she said with a humorless smile.

Syrio smiled too.

"If it works girl, that's what matters."

Arya snorted behind him. It was funny she supposed.

They trained for another long hour before Syrio called it a day. Thank the gods. It was way past time for them to eat. Her mind was already busy when she followed Arya to the door.

"Not so fast Child." called back Syrio.

She stopped, turning on her heels to face him again.

He looked grave.

"People are talking around," he said gravely.

"They are." she agreed.

"Syrio remember what he promised you, child, not so long ago."

Her heartbeat harder in her chest.

"So do I.," she said softly.

He nodded.

"Once the fat King gone, you may not be able to leave the city like you want to."

"I know. Father wants us to leave as soon as possible, but he plans to stay behind."

"And you don't want that."

She shacked her head.

"Syrio will keep his words," Syrio said. "Ask the child to come with her little needle next time."

"Needle? Why?"

"It is safer for Syrio to hide it, than for a child to keep it in her room, where everyone can find it."

Kyria blinked.

"But what if we leave and you can't? Arya won't abandon it, she'd rather die than do such a thing."

Syrio smiled. He looked oddly proud of himself for some reason.

"I am a Dancing Master. What harm could do a dancing master?" he said slowly. "And what questions could people ask if a Dancing Master from Braavos has a little needle from Braavos with him?"

Kyria smiled. It was true.

Syrio's eyes studied her carefully.

"What is it child?" he asked.

She blinked.

"What?"

"You are still chased by your troubles. Stubborn thing you are."

She snorted.

"I'm afraid," she confessed. "For my sisters. For myself."

"What is it that scared you?"

"If we don't leave this place, if Father is arrested, or killed, or send to the Wall for one reason or another, Sansa will be kept here as a hostage. Arya too, for the time being. She's just a child. But me..." she hesitated.

It was something she hadn't even thought. Something she tried to ignore for days. Something she was afraid to voice, she for she couldn't even admit it to herself.

"I'm not a child. I'm off age, or almost. I'm scared of what they might to with me."

"What could they do?"

"Marry me off to one of their loyal lords. Someone cruel and as unpleasant as they can find around here. This court is full of them." she said with disgust. "Or they could give me to Littlefinger or another of those men who hold brothels."

"Why would they do that? You are a noble-born child," he said.

"And I'm smart." she snorted. "They know that. They might want to… break me."

There. She said it. Her greatest fear. That they might try to break her. Rape her, beat her until there was nothing left of her mind, her will...Herself.

"Simple." said the man.

Kyria blinked.

"What?"

"You are scared that they try to break you. They might try. You are scared that they might sell you to the first awful man they may have under their command, they might do just so. You are scared to be apart from your sisters. They will certainly do that. So what? It's simple."

"How is it simple?"

"Don't let them break your will," he said with a large smile.

Kyria blinked.

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

The man shrugged.

"Don't let them and they won't."

Why was he-

It took her a moment to truly understand what he was saying. Don't give up. He was telling her not to give up. She didn't know what to say. What to do.

"The Queen won't leave me alone. Not until I'm out of her way. And she knows I will do anything to protect my sisters." she said again.

"Don't let them break you and they will never win," he said cryptically, nodding his curly head with each word.

Kyria blinked. It sounded so simple. She could almost believe she was able to do such a thing when he said it like that. But it was not simple. How could it be? There were so many things they could do to her. So many things they could try. And she was pretty sure there were even more things she was not thinking about it.

It could go wrong in so many ways… How would she not break at some point? How much could she handle?

No. No, she couldn't think that. Not yet. There was no point thinking that. Not while it was still only a possibility. She couldn't think like that.

"Your troubles are persistent," observed Syrio. "We will talk again. Tell the child to bring her needle."

She nodded vaguely. She left the room with a lot more to think, then when she entered it. She was worried. She was scared.

She needed to do something.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Kyria didn't act until late in the evening. As much as she longed for some peace, she couldn't do that. She had to play the big sister.

Right after their meal, Sansa dragged her on the courtyard close to the White Tower, where the Kingsguards had their headquarters. Here in the sand, there was a large training yard, where the majority of the soldiers were training.

Kyria watched it all with skeptical eyes, listening to Sansa's excited babble as they made their way to the place, wondering if this was some kind of joke.

According to Sansa's squeaking voice, the prince was going to train with his soldiers and had invited her to watch him. Kyria almost asked her to repeat. The prince training. That would be something she wanted to see. As a lady, of course, Kyria never trained with the men. It wasn't her place. But she did have brothers who loved to train. And she had been able to watch them. She knew what a warrior looked like, even if he wasn't as bulked as northern men tended to be.

And for all his… qualities, Joffrey was not built like a warrior. He was built like a child, with skinny arms and skinny legs. All slim and almost feminine looking. Those arms wouldn't be able to swing a sword, she could bet her life on that. Even her arms were bulkier than his. And that was saying something!

But she was curious. Sue her.

So she let herself being dragged to the training yard. In the name of scientific curiosity. Next to her, Sansa was floating a good foot above the floor in her happiness. Since the day Joff put this three damned necklace around her neck she was determined to wear it all the time, with everything she could find. Today it was a pretty pink dress that made her, even more, look like a doll than usual. Which, again, was saying something. Sometimes, Kyria wondered if she even wore it at night. She wouldn't be surprised if she did.

She seemed so happy Kyria would have sworn she sparkled. Like a diamond. With red hair.

They found the Prince before the yard, wearing what looked like battle armor, ridiculously full of gold. It could have looked just like one of the Kingsguard's armor, without the cape. And the symbol of the Kingsguard sculpted on the plate. And the knight inside too.

"My lady Sansa!" he said looking cheerful.

Yuck.

"My prince." Sansa chipped right back, bowing prettily with her pink cheeks and shiny eyes.

Good gods weren't she a pretty little fool.

"Your grace." Kyria bowed behind her sister, controlling her features in a serene expression.

He immediately loses his charming smile. How surprising, she thought dryly.

"Lady Kyria. I didn't know you would join us," he said, a dangerous edge on his voice.

Kyria bowed her head again.

"Sansa was so happy to come here today, she keeps telling me about your kindness to her, and the joy it was to be betrothed to you. When she asked me to join you this afternoon, I couldn't say no."

She adds a little smile, as innocent as she could, in the hope to appease the boy. His nostrils grew like he was sniffing something awful, and his mouth twisted in the wrong way so, for one second, he looked more grotesque than handsome. Not that she could find him any charms what so ever, but that was not the point. Kyria blinked, and he was smiling again, eyes bright and almost dreamy in his boyish way.

Again, Yuck.

"Well then, you are welcome to join us, my lady. I was just about to join the men in training."

"I'm sure you'll be brilliant my prince!" chipped Sansa.

Joffrey snorted.

"Of course I will. I am a prince. Soon to be a King."

"Of course your grace." chipped Kyria dutifully.

He puffed in satisfaction. He even smiled at her.

Hun. Flattery could certainly get her everywhere with this one. Handy trick.

Gallantly, the crown prince offered his hand to Sansa, leading her to a safe place, where they could observe the training without risking to take a bad hit somewhere.

With Kyria's luck those past days, that could happen.

She would have loved to say she was surprised to see the boy sit next to them, in one of the chairs, under the sunshade. But she wasn't truly. One could wonder why he even bothers wearing armor, to begin with.

Sansa sat prettily in the middle chair, her dress softly arranged around her legs, looking everything like one of those southern ladies with her heavy hairstyle that rolled on her head.

She seemed to have learned magic while here. Judging by the hairstyle. For the love of all the gods she could name, Kyria swore she would never understand the logic behind those things. How something so… geometric could stay in place in someone's head? She barely could convince her hairs to stay in their braid for more than one hour!

"This place is wonderful." sighed the girl, looking around with big blue eyes.

"It is," agreed the Prince. "A good Training place."

As if you ever trained here.

"Do you come here often your grace?" blinked Kyria in all innocence.

She shouldn't do that. She was playing with the fire and she knew it. She really shouldn't do that. But somehow she couldn't help herself.

Fortunately for her head, Joffrey didn't notice. Or didn't cared. Or understood. Whatever. His eyes were always traveling between Sansa and the training yard, a childish excitation vibrating through his body. What was he hoping for? What did he want to see so much?

"As often as I can," he answered after a time. "A prince has a lot of things to do in a day."

"Of course my prince." smiled Kyria.

She purposefully didn't mention actual training. The conversation would have ended up thee if not for the third person around the table.

"Do you train often with your men your grace?" chipped Happily Sansa, "Father do that from time to time. He said it's important to know your men's strength-"

"Do you compare me with your barbaric northern men?" cut Joffrey, his face reddening with anger.

Sansa stopped right in the middle of her enthusiastic babble. Kyria winced. That was painful to watch.

"N-no I just- I just thought-"

"Nothing. You didn't think. I'd be surprised if you even knew how to. You're a woman, what could you possibly know about these things anyway?" he dismissed her contemptuously.

Sansa blushed and looked down.

"We woman do not know much about the art of war my Prince." said Kyria, succumbing to her need to defend the poor girl, " But do have brothers," she added after a moment of the dramatic pause. " Our Father loves to give them lessons of wisdom during our meals together."

Joffrey's burning eyes went right to her.

"And why should I care about your Father's opinion? He's not my Father."

"Not yet your grace." she said softly. " but you are to marry his daughter after all."

His face turned redder. Kyria bites the inside of her cheek. She should have shut up. She shouldn't have say anything, to begin with. Enemy. He thought them to be his enemy. Reminding him that he was supposed to marry in their family was a very bad idea.

He didn't answer, and the silence was heavy between the three of them, but honestly, how could they start another conversation after that?

Kyria looked around her, at the soldiers in the field, the knight and others, at Sansa who didn't look up again for a long time, at Joffrey and the rage pulsing out of him.

They stayed like that for a long time. An eternity. Enough for Kyria to be bored to tears.

She looked with barely disguised exasperation as her little sister chirped like a little bird, sucking the prince's rare attempt of affection -or something close enough to fool her – like a man dying of thirst would dry a river.

He was good at pretending, she could give him that. He sounded like one of those knights in the songs Sansa loved so much and it was pretty ridiculous to see, but Kyria kept her mouth shut. It wasn't the time, nor the place to say something. Even though she was dying to do just that.

It would almost have been called a success.

Until Sansa made another mistake.

"I wish we could stay here forever..." she sighed dreamily, stars in her eyes.

Kyria felt her spine stiffen, her attention sharpening, focusing on the next work coming from her sister's mouth. No… No, she wouldn't do that? She wasn't that dumb? She couldn't be!

"What do you mean my lady?" asked Joffrey, batting his eyelashes at her -Seriously?-.

"Father wants us to go back home," confessed Sansa.

Fuck. So she was dumb. Wonderful.

"What?"

"What my sister means," hastily cut Kyria, in a desperate attempt to salvage the mess. "is that we may have to go back home soon. Arya and I at least. You see, our little brother Bran woke up and is getting better day after day, but we still want to see if he is truly alright. Besides, it wouldn't be proper for our mother to miss Sansa's wedding."

Sansa blinked at her, ready to open her mouth again but one glare from her sister stopped her. Why couldn't she just shut her mouth? Stupid girl. Kyria hated what she just has done. Telling the boy about Bran was the last thing she would have liked to do, but good gods for once couldn't she have thought about what she was about to say BEFORE saying it?

"Is that so?" said Joffrey pensively.

Kyria changed the subject, but the damage was done. She could see it in the way he was pensively looking at them, in the glint in the back of his eyes.

Suddenly, a horrible thought crossed Kyria's mind. What if this was exactly the reason Joffrey had to invite Sansa today? To make her say their father's plan?! If it was the case the girl made a horrible mistake. A terrifying and very stupid mistake.

Oh, this was bad. This was so, so bad! Why it was Sansa who was betrothed to this boy? Why did she have to be betrothed at all!? Couldn't she have just stayed at home?

Well, life would have been easier if they all stayed home, she kind of covered that now...

The said girl didn't seem to notice there was a problem. She seemed a bit troubled for a moment, but quickly, she forgot everything about her confusion and was back to her happy chipping. Kyria didn't talk again, busy as she was observing the boy prince and the different expressions that crossed his face.

He was back looking at the field, his eyes greedily following a knight who seemed very much eager to beat the shit out of his squire. He looked at them for a moment, ignoring Sansa's silly talking, until his face dropped in disappointment and promptly looked for another victim of his strange attention.

What was he expecting? What could he want from this?

"My prince?" called Sansa softly.

Ah. So she had noticed the prince's lack of attention. Finally.

"My prince? Are you listening?" she asked her voice slightly stronger.

"What?" snapped Joffrey, looking at her with an annoyance clear on his face.

Sansa blushed.

"I- well… that is- you- you seemed lost in your thought for a moment and I-"

"What of it?" his tone was just as agreeable.

 _He does not want to talk to you, you foolish girl_ thought Kyria rather unkindly.

She immediately felt guilty for that. But good gods couldn't she take a hint? She was so determined to gain the boy's attention. It was as if she wanted very much to ignore everything that could prove her the boy's indifference. Why? Why did she want so much to believe in a lie? What was the point?

Kyria didn't understand. She couldn't. If someone, her betrothed or a man she might love talked to her the way Joffrey was talking to Sansa she would have left ages ago already. Of course, it was good for Sansa to be a devoted wife. But why couldn't she see that marriage was no song! Once she was bounded to this boy it would be for life, and he would be able to do everything he wanted with her.

Why did she want to leave in such a way? Kyria knew she wanted to be happy. How couldn't she see that Joffrey could never make her happy?

Pensively, Kyria watched as her sister tried to please her betrothed. She watched as the boy grew more annoyed and impatient each time she opened her mouth. She watched as his mask of polite young prince fell more and more from his face as the day grew shorter. When he finally decided their afternoon needed to end, the tic of his jaw was painful to see. And Sansa seemed completely unaware of all of it.

It astonished Kyria. How someone as smart as Sansa -and she knew she could be incredibly smart when she wanted to – could be so blind? So stupid?

She was so deep in her thought she almost misses it when the girl starts her scolding. By this time, they were already halfway to the Tower of the Hand.

"Why did you lie to the Prince?" she accused her, her voice full of anger.

Ah.

Well, two could play this game.

"Because it's not his business if we want to go or not," she said coldly.

"But it is! He's my betrothed and He's to be the King! Of course, he must know if Father wants to take me away from him or not."

"That's not what Father wants to do Sansa don't be dramatic."

Well, technically it was exactly what Father intended to do. Although did she needed to make it sound that dramatic? Seriously? She sounded like Father had wanted to steal one of the statues of the gardens!

"Yes, it is! He told me he wanted to end our betrothal! He said he wanted to find someone better. Someone strong and brave and gentle!"

"Lower your voice sister, all the keep does not need to hear about our business." hissed Kyria anger slowly building in her belly.

Gods but was she annoying when she wanted to be.

"I don't care if everyone hears me!"

"Well, then you're stupid!"

"I'm not! How dare you!" she cringed, her face red with anger.

It didn't look good with her fiery hair.

"For god's sake Sansa! Don't you know anything about discretion? Lower your voice!" said Kyria, the anger in her voice making it harsh in her forced whisper.

"Why should I do that!? I'm to be Queen! Why should I care about discretion?!"

"Because we are not safe here! What are you, blind?! You're not the Queen, you're not even a princess, you're a little girl who thinks way too high of herself right now!"

Kyria opened the door, and almost pushed Sansa inside the room.

"Don't be stupid! Of course, it's safe it's the capital! I'm the prince's betrothed, no one would dare hurt me!"

Kyria had to stop walking to be sure she heard that right. Oh, how she wanted to slap her right now. She never wanted to hurt her family. Ever. But right now she could give anything for someone to give this stupid little girl a good slap in the face.

"My gods Sansa do you even listen to me when I talk?! Do you even pay attention to anything that is not your stupid prince or the crown on his head?! Of course, they would dare hurt you in the capital! Father was the Hand of the King and they hurt him in the middle of a street! And he's a man! A warrior! You're just a little girl why wouldn't they do the same to you?!"

"No one would dare hurt a prin-"

"If you finish this sentence I swear to you I am going to slap you, you little fool!" growled Kyria between her teeth.

Sansa's mouth shut itself immediately. Her face took another interesting shade of red, but Kyria was tired of her little game.

"I'm tired of you Sansa. I spend half the time on the road here warning you to be careful, to think before you act, to think farther than the appearances and you just don't want to listen! We are living maybe the most dangerous time of our lives in this place and you persist in thinking everything is well as long as your precious prince smile at you from time to time."

"That's not-"

"Shut up! You shut your mouth and you listen to me now! I'm tired of you ignoring me! I don't care if you don't want to hear what I have to say, you will hear it or the gods help me I will slap the words right through your airy little brain!"

"Now you're not fair! I do listen to you Kyria-"

"If you truly did you wouldn't be saying the things you just said to my face!"

Kyria's voice resonated a moment in the empty parlor. Sansa's eyes blinked multiple times, her surprise clear on her face. She didn't expect her normally so calm sister to act this way. Kyria took a deep breath, aware of her failure at keeping her temper in check.

"Listen to me, Sansa. We are not safe here! This is the last place we could ever call safe. Everyone around here is after one thing and one thing alone: power! And they'll do anything to have it! Anything! Even hurt or use naive little girls like you! We talked about this already Sansa! Father has a very high place in this court, and if someone wants to hurt or blackmail him the very first thing they will think of is hurting us! This is what I meant when I explained this to you sister! This is exactly what I meant!"

The girl blushed at the memory of the said discussion. She didn't stay embarrassed long, unfortunately.

"That does not explain why you lied to the prince about us leaving!"

Good gods was she even real? How could someone be so dense?! How was this even possible?

In any other situation, Kyria would have been impressed.

"Really Sansa? After everything?"

The girl blinked and opened her mouth, but Kyria didn't want to hear anything she might have said.

"No. I'm done with this. If you can't figure on your own why you have to keep your mouth shut around this boy I won't spend more time explaining it to you."

She left. She was tired of this.

Of leaving arguments with anger burning inside her. Tired of always being the one with the great speech about carefulness and warnings.

She was done with all of this talking to the wind.

It was only later, once her temper flattered down to a more manageable level, and her head cleared away the could of anger, that Kyria allowed the guilt to flourish inside her.

Alone against the door of her room, she pressed the heels of her hands on her closed eyes and pictured Sansa's pained face. She gathered her expression, as she almost threw up all her ire and anger right on her, like puke.

She felt bad. She felt bad that she caused her little sister's eyes to moister that way. She felt bad to be the reason why she was certainly crying right now.

But Sansa was foolish. And stubborn in her ignorance. And she was truly tired of it.

And it astonished Kyria that no one never told her how utterly naive and stupid she acted. Mother, Father, Septa. All of them, indulging her in her fantasies like a small child toddling in a room full of very chewy papers ready to be destroyed by his grabby little hands.

Protection could only be that much of an excused. And, from what Kyria gathered in her oh so short experience, ignorance was no bliss. Not for them. Not now.

But to see this face, haunting her like a bad dream… Was it the right thing? Couldn't she have found something else to say? Another way to make her see?

She couldn't duel on this all night. She didn't have the time, or the luxury to stay in the past. Not now. She had things to do. Things that couldn't wait anymore and she knew it.

She stayed in her room that night. She didn't want to have to face anyone else. She wanted to stay alone for a bit and think of what was supposed to happen next.

She sat on the chair and let the cold realization of her intentions chill her hands. She let the meaning of it strangle her breath and wet her eyes.

She hated it. She was terrified. Because she knew, dip down what it meant for her to do that.

She knew the risks, the meaning, the questions and dangers that would follow that. And worst of all, she knew what it meant for her purpose here. For the mission, she had given herself. She knew, but she couldn't help it. She had to do that. She had to do everything she could. And everything she could be very little right now.

The King was dying. And a part of her knew that with his death, the last remnants of control she had about the situation were about to disappear.

But then again, she never really controlled anything, to begin with…

Her finger shacked when she closed them on the quill. She closed her eyes.

She knew.

She was giving up hope.

Oh, the irony….

But she didn't have a choice. This needed to be done. Before it was too late.

_Hope for the best, prepare for the worst._

She smiled, feeling biter sweet at the memories attached to this sentence. It was for situations like this that she said of it the first time… Maybe she had hoped a bit too much.

She took a deep breath and started writing. The scratch of the quill against the paper easing the tension inside her.

_To Jon Snow, Brother of the Night's Watch._

_Brother,_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Two days later, the King was dead.

She woke up with a heavy heart. Images of the rolling head fresh in her head.

She broke her fast with her family. Sansa's stubborn silence acknowledging that the last days indeed happened.

Father with a lifeless voice announced the Death of the King and their imminent departure from the capital. Kyria welcomed the news with indifference. She didn't meet her father's gaze. She didn't believe him. She still wanted to leave. Of course, she did. But she had lost hope to do that when Sansa opened her mouth.

This couldn't be so easy. Not anymore.

Sansa didn't protest at the news. It gave Kyria enough courage to look at her. Her eyes were on her plate. From where Kyria was, she couldn't see her expression. But her eyes stayed a minute longer on her tiny white fist, closed around her fork.

"Could we go say goodbye to Syrio Father?" asked Arya eagerly.

Kyria thought of the letters hidden inside her corset. She needed to send them. She had carried them around since she wrote them. It wasn't safe in her room. But she couldn't keep doing that. By one way or another. Maybe she could give them to Syrio… He said it himself after all. Who would question a humble Dancing master…

Father took his time to answer.

"You can go. All three of you. But you must stay together, do you understand? And you come right back here as soon as you are done."

"Yes Father," said Kyria, echoing Arya's voice.

"But Father-"

Arya's eyes were huge and pleading. They cut Sansa right in the middle of her plea.

Kyria remembered Syrio's demand right before their leave. Needle.

"Arya, take Needle with you," she said as her sister was running past her.

"What? Why?"

"Trust me."

The girl frowned but nodded after a very long heartbeat. She ran back to her room and came out again a few moments later, her tiny sword in her hand. Wisely, Kyria took it from her and sneaked the sword under her southern dress. Attached right under her breast, the thing was invisible under the fabric.

"Why are you doing that?" asked Arya loudly.

"We are supposed to go dancing. Ladies do not wear swords," she answered easily.

They found Sansa in the parlor. The girl didn't talk, nor did she look at Kyria. But she didn't protest when it was time to go.

Syrio was waiting for them.

"Welcome children!" he called happily, a wide smile on his face.

"Syrio!" called Arya running to him with a frown on her little face. "We are leaving today! We won't be able to come back for another lesson!"

"We came to say goodbye," added Sansa.

"Did you?" said the master, his eyes founding Kyria's maliciously.

Did he have something in mind?

"Well, the day is still young children. I doubt you will have to leave right now."

"I don't suppose so..." said Arya slowly.

He tosses them the wooden swords. Arya caught hers easily enough. Sansa had a bit more trouble.

"Then you'll have time for one last lesson." he decided.

"Do we?" hesitated Sansa.

"I don't see why not," said Kyria, retrieving her dress and the sword hidden under it.

Syrio's face opened in a wide-open expression. He held a hand for her and took the sword with a careful hand. He took his time admiring it. His eyes slowly rolling on the cold steel of the tiny sword.

"It is good to work. Not as perfect as it could have been was it made in Braavos, but still. Good enough for a little child like you." he said then, his eyes to Arya.

"Why did you want to see it?" she asked.

"I want to keep it with me."

"WHAT!?"

Kyria grabbed her sister's arm before she could even start to claw out the man's face. Judging from the growl that came out of her, she was very close to do just that.

"NEVER! Needle is mine! She's mine! You won't steal her from me!"

"Quiet now child." scolded Syrio, the sword pointed at Arya wiggling form. "Who says anything about stealing? This little needle would be no use for me. Way too skinny, way too small! No this is your needle and it will always be this way." he said with a nod.

"But you said you wanted to take it from Arya!" voiced Sansa, confusion was written on her face.

"I did." he nodded. " I knew for some times now that you would leave. And Syrio Forell is a man of his words! I vow to train you, child. I will do so until you learned everything you could from me."

It took Arya a moment to understand.

"You're coming with us!?" she squealed excitingly.

"I do. But!" he said, cutting the girl as she took her breath. "We live a dangerous time. Good little girl whose Fathers walk in so thin ice are not allowed to have weapons."

"What is the meaning of this?" said Sansa.

"Now we don't want your father's enemies to find anything that might convince them of his… dangerousness. And a little girl with a little sword is very good proof. So, Syrio Forell will keep the child's needle with him until it is safe enough for the child to have it again."

"But I hide it in my room!" protested Arya.

"If Father is suspected of anything, they will look everywhere Arya." Kyria's voice was law.

"That's stupid! Father would never betray the King It's his friend!"

"The King is dead."

Arya blinked owlishly, not getting why it should make a difference, but Syrio didn't let them think about it too much. With his strong voice, he ordered them to make themselves at ease for their training, while he put the little needle away.

Kyria and Sansa were paired together, while Arya was with the master. Except for the first discussion, it felt like any other session. Sansa was as graceful always, but her moves were clumsy. Kyria couldn't say if it was because of her lack of habit, or her growing body, or even the strong feeling that stormed behind those eyes from time to time. Their argument of the day before was not forgotten.

"You lied!" accused Arya, her voice loud between the sounds of wood clashing wood.

Sansa turned her head with curiosity. With a satisfied smirk, Kyria took the opportunity for what it was and hit the girl's sword hand with a quick movement.

The sword was dropped immediately.

"Aouch!"

"You should have paid attention," she said.

Sansa frowned.

"It's not fair, I was not looking."

"And now you are dead," said Syrio, his body playing with Arya like a leaf in the wind.

"It's not a real fight I'm not-"

"Oh, but it is a fight. And now you are a dead girl."

"Not today!" screamed Arya with an energic throw.

Syrio laughed. So did Kyria. That was a good way of using those words.

"What's so funny?"

"It's something Syrio taught us," answered Kyria.

"Not today? It does not make any sense."

"It's what you should say to the god of death when you face him. Not today," she explained.

Sansa nodded pensively. Kyria looked at her. Maybe she should talk to her? Maybe it was worth a shot, now that she didn't feel so angry…

"!"

Kyria tensed immediately.

"Kyria?"

"Sh!" she snapped.

With a wave of her hand, she quickly made her way to the large windows. Her heart was huge in her throat. No. No, no-no.

There. Gold, and white and red.

"The Kingsguard," she said slowly. "A Kingsguard is coming here. With half a dozen red cloaks."

"What?" asked Arya behind her.

Kyria didn't even think. She turned and looked at Syrio, fear in his eyes. He was already moving.

"Put your dresses children. Quickly. Kyria, help me hide the swords."

"What? Why?" whined Arya behind her.

" _Now._ "

His voice was commanding, and more serious than ever before.

Kyria put her dress on without even thinking about it. The petticoat was tricky to put on her own but was starting to get used to it by now. Arya had only a skirt to put around her legs. Kyria thanked the old gods for her growing paranoia that had her force her sister to always look like ladies even when they went to see Syrio. Most of the time, Arya just put a skirt on her usual outfit, but it was enough.

Sansa helped her sister, silent and quick.

Syrio just had the time to hide the chest in the far corner of the room, when the door busted open. Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard stood in the center of a pack of red cloaks, all armed and dangerous looking.

Kyria moved and stood in front of her sisters, her arms grabbing both hands.

"Kyria-" started Sansa.

"Ladies, your Father is asking for you," he said with a rash voice.

Kyria felt her leg wobble under her skirt. She locks her knees to stay as straight as possible. A cold hand gripped her heart. No. No, no no no please no...

Syrio took a step in front of them.

"And why Lord Stark would send Lannister men to summon his daughters?" he asked.

"This no concern of your Dancing masters." grunted the Kingsguard.

"Oh is it?"

"Syrio please," said Kyria behind him.

She didn't miss the dangerous edge in the way the red cloaks around were caring themselves. Slowly circling them like lions a prey. She had to act. Quickly. _Control Kyria, control!_

"We'll come with you," she said with all the assurance she could gather.

"Kyria-" hissed Arya behind her.

"Shut up." she hissed back as the men were surrounding them. "you shut your mouth, both of you and you let me talk. Whatever happens, we stay together. You hear me?"

Sansa nodded immediately, but Arya pouted still.

"Arya-"

"I don't want to go with them," she grumbled.

"We don't have a choice, Arya." Kyria tugs her arm. "You stay behind me you understand?"

"Yes alright!"

"Shut up!" grunted the Kingsguard in front of them.

Kyria shut her mouth, her hand gripping tightly on Arya's, the other arm around Sansa's. They slowly made their way to the Throne room, Syrio on their heels, and there was only one thing she could do now.

She prayed. She prayed this had nothing to do with her dreams. She prayed she was wrong to be scared of the meaning behind the absence of Stark men around them. She prayed it was her father behind this summon, and not someone else.

But she knew. Syrio was right. Father would never send those men.

Her grip on Arya's hand was tighter. She ignored the cold tear rolling on her cheek. She knew what it meant. She knew.

_Too late… It was too late._

_I failed._

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys!
> 
> Yes, I didn't put any notes in the beginning ^^  
> I feel like I may talk a bit too much in those notes... So I try to restrain myself...  
> Feel free to say it if you prefer things like that ^^'
> 
> Now for the chapter, this is the last one with Kyria's point of view! That's it! It's over!   
> The next ones will be with other points of view like I said I would do ^^
> 
> As you so, things are now officially really bad for everyone! I'm starting to actively change things.   
> So yeah, Arya Sansa and Kyria are together! And we all know why Trant just came to take them away!  
> So next chapter we will deal with Ned arrest and everything that will result  
> from it for the girls.   
> I hope you guys liked this chapter! I don't know what else to say about it... It was hard to write and I feel like Kyria is angry all the time and spend the chapter just screaming and raging at everyone she crosses xD  
> I don't like that! I don't want Kyria to be angry and bitter and just annoying!  
> But on the other side, it's kind of difficult not to make her angry with everything happening and everyone not listening to her!
> 
> As for Sansa telling Joffrey about their potential leave, well I read that Sansa may be responsible for the Queen knowing their intention to leave int he original story and that was something I wanted to keep. But on the other side, I felt like it would have been too much if Sansa just went to the queen with all the time Kyria spend trying to warn her to be careful. I don't feel coherent for her to do that!  
> So I did that instead... Is it better? I'm so confused!  
> What do you think?   
> I hope you liked that! Don't forget to share your opinion on the matter! I don't know when I will be able to post again, things are starting to be pretty wild in college, but I will try my best guys!  
> See ya!


	16. Chapter 16: Crushed Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I know, I'm late... I'm sorry!
> 
> Normally I try to always have at least one chapter almost written when in advance when I publish, but as I decided to change the way to tell this part of the story I had to rewrite a bunch of things. And now I'm late in my writing and I'm very frustrated about all of this and I think way too much about things I think I need to stop.
> 
> Anyway, as promised, I wrote an entire chapter out of Kyria's head! And let me tell you it was TROUBLESOME!
> 
> It was sooo hard! Especially the second POV! I think I wrote that thing at least three times before I was happy with it. And to deal with that on top of college and everything else was a journey let me tell you!
> 
> But I did it. And since I'm insane just like that I thought I could go one for more than one chapter, ya know to show you how Kyria affected the world and the people around her. I'm not sure if I will do that until the end of this book but I kind of like the idea. After all, even though for now Kyria is the main character, there is other stories and characters that I want to develop. I have a lot of plans for those guys!
> 
> So, for now, there will be at least two different points of view in most chapters, and I'll try to explore one different character each time. I may not be able to do that for everything because I still need to show some scenes and I have to do it with the characters I have on the scenes so a couple of them are susceptible to appear more than once, but I'll try my best!
> 
> So, for this chapter, I won't say a lot more than what I already said, because, ya know, spoils and what not. I will say however that it start right after the end fo the last one. And let me warn you, shit started to get real. Like, GOTlike real. If ya know what I mean.  
> Anyway, hope you'll enjoy this one folks! See you at the end!

**Chapter 16: Crushed Dreams.**

**Year 298 after the Conquest, Ninth Month.**

**Kingslanding**

**Sansa**

Sansa was scared.

Kyria had said she didn't pay attention. She had said she didn't like to look outside her beliefs and everything else. She knew her sisters thought she was empty-headed and stupid when it came to this place and the people.

But it was not true. She was paying attention! Maybe she was not as clever, or as suspicious about everything as Kyria was, but she still paid attention. She knew that people didn't trust Father anymore, that they suspected him of many awful things.

Of course, it was impossible. She wasn't even questioning that. There were no doubts, no hesitations. Father wouldn't do anything against his honor. He would never! He was loyal and honorable! Father wouldn't betray his word.

It was a fact. Like the color of the sky.

She knew something had changed since Father's attack. She would have been especially stupid if she hadn't noticed. People were looking at her differently. She heard them whispering behind her back, whenever she went outside of the Tower. She noticed the guards posted everywhere, every time she visited Myrcella. They weren't that many before.

She noticed all of this.

But now was the very first time those changes were scaring her. There was something wrong. She couldn't deny it, as much as she wished she could. Surrounded by guards, and escorted to Father, she couldn't deny something was very, very wrong.

She thought of Father. Was it him who asked them to come so harshly? She founded that hard to believe. But surely a knight like Ser Meryn wouldn't lie?

She knew Ser Meryn. He was one of the knights who often protected her beloved Joffrey. She knew him well in fact, he was one of the two Kingsguards she knew the names of. Him and Ser Jaime of course. But she didn't like Ser Jaime that much now. He did hurt her father after all. To think such a man, a knight would do something like that…

She hadn't believed it at first. It sounded improbable, unthinkable that a knight as Ser Jaime would do such a thing! Of course, she knew of his reputation. But killing the man who had murdered her grandfather and her uncle didn't sound horrible to her, no matter what Father could say. Sure he betrayed his vow. But it was the Mad King and everyone had said how horrible he was. To have him dead couldn't be a bad thing in the end, could it be?

But attacking her father that was something else. Father was not a mad man.

Ser Meryn was one of the few knights she knew the best. The Hound was the second. She didn't like him much. He was scary. With his tall figure and the burned skin on his face. She still remembered Lord Baelish's story about it. The way he described it. The way she pictured it in her mind. That had been awful. But the worst was that she couldn't even pity the man. He was too horrible. To gross, vulgar, harsh… violent almost. He scared her.

She'd rather have Ser Meryn protecting them anytime. Besides, he was a true knight. The Hound was not. Only a dog had said Joffrey. How degrading, for a knight to be called such a thing. If he was truly a knight he wouldn't be called a dog. He'd have some dignity!

A part of her was happy to see Ser Meryn with them. With him, they couldn't be hurt. He wouldn't hurt them for sure. He was always eager to protect and obey her Joffrey. But the red cloaks around made her uncomfortable. She kept looking at their armors and the shiny pommels of their swords. They looked fierce. All of them.

Yes, she was scared.

"Kyria..." she whispered.

Her sister didn't answer, but Sansa felt her hand pressed against her own, soft finger slowly curling around hers. She heard her. She knew Sansa was scared.

Sansa couldn't see Arya. The little girl was on the other side of her big sister. But from the way, Kyria was carrying herself, and the heaviness on her steps, she must hold her too, from her side. Somehow, it reassured her. She wasn't the only one who needed to relay on Kyria. She wasn't the only one scared.

She knew she was supposed to be angry at Kyria. After everything, she said the night before. Every horrible thing. She should hate her forever and refuse to ever talk to her again. But this was not about their fight. Not now. This was about those red cloaks around them, circling them like predators, like a cage made to keep them locked. Like they were scared to see them flee.

Why would they do that? Father wanted to see them! It was stupid to try to escape! Especially when it was important enough to bring the Kingsguard and the red cloaks.

A part of her thought something was wrong. It was not like Father to ask those people to escort them to him. But she dismissed those thoughts. She shouldn't think like that, she started to sound like Kyria. She didn't want to sound like Kyria, Kyria was wrong.

It was strange for sure, she couldn't say it was not. But it didn't necessarily mean it was bad. Maybe it was just for protection. She was the Prince betrothed after all. They should want to protect her. It was their role.

Maybe they went a little too far with that? Maybe that was why things felt so strange. Yes, she had to believe that. She couldn't panic like a child and let her brain jump into every possible scenario. It was just a question of habit. Nothing else. She wasn't used to having red cloaks around here that were all. Those men would soon be her men. Having them around will soon be perfectly normal.

Yes. Yes, that was it.

It had to be.

She tried to convince herself, for several moments, but in the end, she couldn't. The fear in her belly was still there and something inside her kept screaming that something was wrong. There was just something… in the air around them. She couldn't place it, but she didn't like the feeling.

She felt likes some kind of prey. Like someone was about to jump out of nowhere and attack her.

Nervously, the girl looked back at her sister's profile. But nothing on her face seemed to indicate what she was thinking or feeling. Sansa pressed Kyria's hand in her own a bit more.

Kyria would know what happened. What was happening? She would. Kyria was smart and observant. Very much more than Sansa.

She couldn't deny this. Kyria had noticed, way before her, that something was wrong. She was the one who pulls them close to her when the guards first arrived. She was the one who saw them by the window. And even before. Kyria had always been wary of this place. Before today she found it stupid, but now… Now it made sense. In a very disturbing way.

But Sansa refused to believe in everything that went out of her sister's mouth. Kyria was suspicious and way too paranoid. If only she could stop worrying all the time. Sansa didn't remember her being like that back home.

Maybe she was right when she said this place changed people.

No. No, it was not possible. The idea alone was ridiculous. It was the capital. The most wonderful place in the world. Nothing could be wrong in such a place.

… But, she couldn't deny that Father had been attacked in the capital. It never happened back home.

But it was Jaime Lannister's fault. No one else. Besides, who knows, maybe it was just a big misunderstanding between her Father and Ser Jaime!

She knew Father didn't like the man. Maybe they had a fight that went too far? Maybe Ser Jaime hadn't want Father to be hurt in their confrontation? Maybe everything had been a very big very messy accident?

All of this was so confusing. She didn't know what to think anymore. But she knew some things. She knew Kyria was clever. And generally, when she said something, she was right. Most of the time. Sometimes, when she thought very hard about it, Sansa wished she could be as clever as her big sister. Today was one of those times.

She keeps looking at her, as they slowly made their way into the keep a strong belief beating in her heart. Kyria would know.

A sudden cry on her right stopped Sansa. It was so sudden, so unexpected, she didn't even think. Her body was already looking as her mind just started to analyze the sound. Kyria's grip on her hand pressed further, hurting her almost. But her mind didn't register the pain.

Later, when she'll think about that day, Sansa would say it was that moment when her dreams and hopes for her future died. For now, she could only try to understand what was happening in front of her.

There were two gold cloaks. One of them was wiping his sword against his cloak, the other was pulling his out of-

"NO!"

"Sansa don't look!"

The world stopped around her.

She didn't understand at first. She couldn't. This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not now. Not ever. This was not possible. Not-

Her eyes fell from the soldier to the pool of red liquid slowly running at his feet. First, she thought of wine. But wine was not so dark. The color was wrong. The thickness was wrong. It couldn't be wine. But what else could it be? It looked like...Blood?

No. It couldn't be. She knew what blood looked like of course. She grew up with three brothers. And Theon and Robb did like to spare a lot in the courtyard of her home. But this couldn't be blood.

Why would there be blood on the floor of the Red Keep?

Someone screamed. Behind her, she felt the air moving with Kyria. A hand went for Sansa's head, pushing her somewhere, but her eyes were running along the small river of this red thing on the floor, trying to find where it started. There has to be an explanation. There has to be.

"Sansa No, don't!" pressed Kyria.

Finally, her eyes found it. She blinked and it was there. So obvious she could have seen it before. It was hard to miss really. So obvious. Why hadn't she seen this before?

She blinked, and it hit her. What it was. Like a slap on the face. She screamed. Her voice resonated into the walls. Someone grabbed her. She tried to fight it. She couldn't. Someone stopped her, grabbed her, pulled her back. She couldn't reach the- She couldn't- But she had too! She needed to- This was- This was-

"SEPTA!"

Her kind eyes were empty, huge and unblinking. Her face twisted in something ugly, disturbing and desperately lifeless. Her jaw stayed open, hanging low, almost against the floor. Her veil was dirty. The fabric slowly drinking the red liquid in which it was soaked. There was red everywhere. On the floor, on the veil, on her face. On her- on her grey dress and – and-

There was no neck. Just the floor. The floor and red. Red everywhere-

The floor.

"SEPTA!" she screamed again.

She tried to move, to help her, to- Anything! But there were arms around her and people shouting and so many noises and someone kept calling Septa. A part of her brain knew it was her voice but she was there and there was no-

"SEPTA MORDANE!"

"Sansa don't!" said someone again.

And it was Kyria, Kyria who was holding her but she shouldn't! She shouldn't she was- Couldn't she see?! There was something wrong! There was something wrong with Septa and she needed help and- They couldn't leave her like that! They had- They had to- They-

"SEPTA!"

"Sansa hush," said Kyria again.

She couldn't move, something was holding her and they kept talking around and- Why were they talking!? Septa was there! She was hurt! She was- Her head was-

Why were they shooting? They should do something! Help Septa! She needed help! Sansa needed to go help her assist her! They couldn't leave her like that! She was- Her head was- They couldn't leave her like that!

"Let go of me! Let go! Septa!"

"Sansa- Sansa!" called Kyria.

She dragged her farther away from septa, and before Sansa could understand what was happening, everything was dark around her. Her sobs echoed against something warm and soft. A large lock of curly hair entered her mouth as her sister pressed her head against her neck. Sansa tried to escape again but it was pointless. She couldn't move. She couldn't move and Septa- Septa-

"No! SEPTA!" said another voice. "LET GO OF ME!"

"Easy child."

"LET GO OF ME! SEPTA!"

Syrio. Arya. Sansa tried to move again, but Kyria was strong.

"Keep going." ordered one of the red cloaks around them. "We have places to go to."

"No! SEPTA!" called Arya somewhere behind Kyria.

The armors were moving. Clinging metal. People talking, swords. And Septa-

"Hush child." stopped Syrio again.

"NO! No, let go of me! Septa! He killed Septa! Let go of me!"

"Kyria!" moaned Sansa. "Kyria, Septa-"

"Now Arya-"

"LET GO OF ME! SEPTA!"

"Alright enough," called Kyria. "Syrio will you-"

Syrio didn't answer, but Arya's protests were suddenly way closer.

Kyria moved. She grabbed Sansa's face and held it so the girl couldn't escape her sister's gaze. Still, she tried.

"Look at me," ordered Kyria.

Sansa wimped and looked. Kyria's eyes were red. But dry. There was something cold inside. Making her eyes hard like steel. Sansa sobbed and tried, again, to go to her Septa. But she was- She was-

"You listen to me, both of you." she said "We don't have time for this. I know it's septa and I know she- she's-" Kyria's face changed. But then she was somber again. "We can't do anything for her. We have to find Father, do you understand? We have to follow them or they'll make us walk. We do everything they said and we shut our mouths."

"Why? We should- We- Septa's- the gold cloaks they-"

She couldn't say it. She couldn't think about it. This couldn't be happening. Septa was a holly woman! A servant of the Seven! Things like that didn't happen to people like Septa. This wasn't possible!

" You shut up, you follow them and you keep your tears for yourself. We'll cry once it's all done. We have to move now."

"I don't want to. I- I don't want to go with them! Kyria, don't make me!"

"We have to."

"I'm scared!" she whined in her sister's neck.

Kyria would know. Kyria would understand.

"I know darling. I know," she said softly.

Her hands were soft against her neck. Sansa sobbed again. Septa. _Septa!_ Her head was still-

Was it?

She couldn't look. She couldn't! No one could make her look at that- At- At-

"I won't follow them! I'll kill them! They kill Septa! I'll kill them all of this! I won't go anywhere with those monsters!" cried Arya, her voice angered and high pitched.

"Hush now Arya. You shut your mouth and you follow us! You promised to remember?" said Kyria.

Sansa felt her move again but she didn't look. She couldn't look at anything. Her eyes were closed, safely hidden in her sister's neck. She didn't want to look. They couldn't make her look around. They couldn't.

There were voices still. Cries around them. Far from them. They resonated in the corridors. She didn't want to know why there were so many people screaming. She didn't want to see. She'll stay here, Kyria will protect her. Kyria knew how to do that. She won't make her watch Septa- Septa-

"But Kyria-"

"Enough of this!" groaned the harsh voice of Ser Meryn.

Someone tugged Sansa away. With a painful cry, Sansa fell back from her sister's arms and right against the cold plate of the man's armor. Another one, large and red moved to Arya.

"NO!"

The sound of the slap resonated louder than any noise Sansa could have made.

"Now you shut your mouth little bitch and you move," ordered Ser Meryn.

Kyria grabbed Arya close to her her eyes burning dangerously. She looked like Frost. The same dangerous glint in her eyes.

"Don't touch my sister." she groaned.

The guard's hand rises again, ready to strike Kyria's beautiful face.

"No!" called Sansa, running to her sister. "Don't hurt us! We're coming, we're coming with you, please don't hurt us! I beg you!"

The man grunted, and Ser Meryn made her move. She tried not to protest, her eyes on Arya's reddening cheek. Her little sister's eyes were beaming with rage. But Syrio's firm hand prevented her from talking again.

After a couple of trembling steps, Kyria ripped her from the knight's tight grip. Her hand was soft against her head, and Sansa did not resist when she pushed her back against her shoulder.

She couldn't see much but she didn't want to put her head back up. She didn't want to see anything else. Her hands were trembling. She couldn't make them stop.

People talked again around her. She didn't listen. Her mind went back to Arya and Ser Meryn's hand slapping her. She couldn't suppress a shiver.

How could Ser Meryn do something like that! How dare he! He was a knight! She trusted him! How could he slap her sister like that! She was a child!

She felt a sob climbing her throat.

"Arya!" she called, suddenly unable to carry on without Arya close.

Septa's image was still dancing behind her eyes and she couldn't bear to think something like that might happen to her poor little sister.

Arya blinked and looked at her, all her little face crunched around the ugly red bump on her cheek. It was growing angrier with every step. She looked in pain and shocked by what happened. Or maybe it was Sansa who felt that way?

In any case, she held an arm to her. The little girl only hesitated a moment, before throwing her self into her sister's arms. Her little hands gripped her bodice and the silver belt on her stomach, but Sansa couldn't have cared less. She felt her trembling against her. She was scared too. Or angry maybe? She could never say with Arya.

They didn't talk. But Sansa pressed her close to her. She was the big sister. It was her job to support Arya. Just like uncle Benjen said. Before, she never had the chance to be a sister to Arya. Now she could. More than ever before. The idea of being in charge of this wild little girl warmed something inside Sansa, a deep place safely buried under the fear and confusion. Part of her liked the feeling.

"It's going to be alright Arya," she said softly.

She didn't believe it. But she knew Mother said that sometimes to appease them when they were scared. She had seen Kyria doing it too, with Rickon and Bran a couple of times.

Arya didn't answer, but she felt her round little cheek against her side.

The guard took them to the Throne room. There was no one there.

Or so she thought at first. But then her foot bumped into something and she looked at it. A face looked back, twisted and purple and-

Sansa's scream was swallowed by another of Kyria's large locks of hair, as her sister put her head right back against her neck. The face! She knew- she knew that face! It was- It was-

"What happened here?!" asked Kyria forcefully.

"Keep moving," grunted Ser Meryn.

"They're all dead!" cried Arya against Sansa's bodice.

Her grip was strong against the belt, almost to the point of breaking it. But, again, Sansa couldn't let force herself to care. This was too much. She wanted to go home. She wanted her Mother. Her Father. Where was he?! She didn't want to see this she didn't- Why?!

Sansa sobbed again. This was too much. Too much was happening. She couldn't understand. She couldn't. She didn't want to. No one could make her!

Ser Meryn brought them around the throne, to the High council room. Or so Sansa thought at first. But then they passed the room. The door was wide open and the room was empty.

"Where are we going? You said our Father-"

"Shut up." snapped the Kingsguard.

Kyria made a strange sound with her throat and put her a bit closer again. She didn't understand. Where was Father? Why-

No. No, she didn't want to know. No one would make her see this again! No one!

Sansa watched again the council room. Her heart beats fast in her chest as her hope of seeing Father coming out of this room was made thinner with each step. Then they turned at some other corridor and her heart fell in her belly. Kyria squeezed her shoulder.

"Where are they taking us?" asked Arya against her bodice.

"Hush child," said Syrio.

One of the guards grunted, and for one horrible second Sansa was convinced he would just slap one of them again for talking too much.

This was terrifying. She was scared. She was so scared. What was even happening, None of this made any sense!

They kept going for something like an eternity. Corridors after corridor, to a place Sansa never visited before. But they kept going again, and again. Until they arrived in front of a large door. Sansa couldn't say how much time after they passed Septa-

Sansa sobbed, close to her sisters.

Kyria looked around them and took another step further so that both Sansa and Arya were now behind her.

"Kyria-" started Arya from even behind Sansa.

She realized then that she just did the exact same thing than Kyria had done with her. A part of her didn't want tiny Arya in front of whoever was inside this room. Arya didn't protest. Maybe she didn't realize what they were doing. Surely she wouldn't appreciate someone like Sansa trying to protect her.

Sansa kept her mouth shut. She pressed her hand in Arya's little palm. The Kingsguard opened the door slowly, revealing a large room, full of light and open to a pretty little garden.

The Queen was there, placed in front of a busy-looking desk. Her hair was glowing with the sun behind her. Joffrey was not there. Nor was Father. Or any other member of their household. There was the Queen, an old man that Sansa took a minute to recognize as the Grand Maester Pycelle. Then a bald man, Varys she thought and-

"Lord Baelish!"

Kyria tugged her arm. Sansa shut her mouth and stepped closer to her big sister. She dared to look at Lord Baelish, hoping he might help them. Finally a friendly face! Faces even, with the Queen here. She didn't know the other people, not enough to say if they were friends or foes, but she knew the Queen and Lord Baelish would help them. They've always been so nice with them, and thoughtful. They would help them! Everything would be fine now, she was sure of it. Her hope was so high it almost dismissed her fear and the haunting images of what she witnessed a moment ago.

But Lord Baelish didn't smile. He didn't look at Sansa with this kind look he uses to have every time Sansa was around. She felt her hopes crushed inside her, like leaves under a shoe. She didn't understand. Why? He had been so kind to them, all this time. He was so cold now. Why?

_I don't like him._

Kyria. Kyria hadn't liked Baelish. Or the Queen. Her words echoed inside her brain. Had she been right? Could she be right? No. No, she couldn't! This couldn't be! She chased them away, like she did every time, for she refused to live in a world like the one portrayed Kyria in her endless lectures. Where everyone would lie and betray just for the sake of it. Kyria said the capital was like that. It was absurd! How could it be!?

No. No matter how many times Kyria had been right in other situations, she was wrong here. She had to be.

_She had to be!_

"My Queen," said Ser Meryn. "The Stark girls and their Dancing master are here."

"Thank you Ser Meryn." answered the queen with a sweet voice.

She was always so beautiful. So soft and sweet in the way she spoke. So perfect in each of her dresses.

Sansa admired her. She truly did. She admired her softness, her beauty, her grace. She wanted to be just like her later. A good Queen, a gracious Queen beloved by her people.

_I want them to love me!_

When those beautiful green eyes spotter her, Sansa tried to smile. She felt the muscles of her face hurt with the effort as if to twist her lips into something they were not made for. She hoped it was convincing enough. The Queen's face remains expressionless. Same as the people around her.

Kyria tugged her again. Arya felt heavier on her arm. The twist on her face disappeared, leaving the sad, scared expression that reflected her heart.

Her golden hair slipped on one of her shoulders, as her head moved, traveling from one face to the other. They stopped on Syrio, silently standing behind them all. Sansa had to restrain herself not to look too. She suddenly desperately needed to see his kind face. To see someone on their side. Someone who wasn't them.

"And why are you here, Dancing master? I don't remember summoning you," she said softly.

Everyone looked at him, to Sansa's relief. Syrio didn't answer. Not at first. He took one moment to look at Kyria. Sansa looked too. But her sister's face was hard to read. She looked closed up and hard. Like Father sometimes when something displeased him. Or like Robb.

"I am but a humble dancing master, your grace," he said finally, with this charming smile of his. His accent sounded funny in her ears. "I only wished to know if it would be possible to finish my lessons."

"Your service will no longer be necessary, Dancing master," said Lord Baelish, his voice soft and whispering like always.

She couldn't say why but this time his tone sends a cold chill down her spine.

"What?! You have no right!"

"Arya hush!" whispered Kyria.

Syrio held a hand, to calm Sansa's little sister. It worked, somehow.

"Can I ask why Lord..."

"Baelish, Master of Coin in the High Council." bowed Lord Baelish. "I'm afraid it does not concern you Dancing master. Let's just say that your… employer will be a bit… indisposed in the following month."

Something was troubling in the way he said that. Sansa looked at Kyria. Her hand was cold against Sansa's arm. She couldn't see the other one. But her face had a spasm on the jaw. Something she saw in Robb when he was angry, or thinking very hard.

But she didn't even try to understand more of this. All of her attention was turned on Baelish's words. What did he mean by this? Indisposed? Was he talking to Father?"

"What do you mean Lord Baelish?" asked Syrio.

He looked cool and composed. How could he? In such a situation? Sansa was still half in the mood to just broke up and cry in the middle of this very room. She was so overwhelmed by everything. She didn't understand what was happening. She couldn't. I didn't make any sense. This was too much. Way too much for her. She wanted it to stop. Just to stop.

"We will pay you a comfortable compensation for your troubles, master," said Baelish, eluding the question.

"With all your respect my Lord, I have already been paid for all my lessons. I am bound to honor my task until my little student no longer needs me." said Syrio crossing his arms. "it is not you who can say when I am finished with my task I'm afraid."

"Leave. Dancing master. This does not concern you." said Queen Cersei.

Kyria moved. Sansa missed what she did. She must have done something though because Syrio looked at her again, one last time, before bowing stiffly and leaving the room.

"No! Syrio!" called Arya.

"Arya stop."

"No! Let go of me! Syrio! Don't leave!"

"Enough child." called the Queen. Arya opened her mouth again, but the lady spoke first. "We need to have a very serious conversation with all of you. We don't have time for your little whims. Haven't you understand yet the gravity of the situation you are in?"

"And what is our situation, your grace?" asked Kyria with a loud voice.

Louder than usual. She prevented Arya from talking again. Sansa watched it all happening with round eyes. This didn't make any sense. What situation? What was this about?!

She didn't understand. She knew something was wrong though. But what? Why?

"You are the smart one aren't you, little girl? Do tell me, what do you think your situation is?" asked the queen softly.

There was something joyous in the Queen's voice like she was happy about something somehow. Happy to ask this question? She couldn't say. Who was she talking too? Sansa's eyes found Arya. But the girl was ignoring everyone, her eyes locked in the door where Syrio just left.

"Something must have happened your grace. You wouldn't have summoned us otherwise," said Kyria assuredly.

The Queen didn't look away from Sansa's sister. Was she the little girl? Why would someone call her that? Kyria wasn't a little girl.

"Indeed." said the Queen. "and do you know why ?"

"I'm afraid we don't your grace," said Kyria. "But it must concern our Father, from what Lord Baelish told Master Syrio."

She was impressive in her way. Sansa was scared. Arya seemed scared, or angry, she was not sure. Kyria didn't seem scared. Her back was straight and her head high. Sansa observed her with great attention. How could she look so composed? With everything that just happened!? Her thought stopped in one detail. Kyria's hands. She couldn't see them. Was she purposefully hiding them? Why would she do that?

The queen's face broke in a small smile. She nodded her head.

"Take a seat, lady Kyria."

Sansa panicked. What? No! She tried to stay attached to her sister, but Kyria, with one soft look at her, obeyed the queen. Sansa felt her cheek blush. She was silly, of course, her sister had to obey the queen. It was the sensible thing to do!

But, it was Kyria who was holding them together since the moment the guards cut them in their session with Syrio. It was Kyria who held Sansa when- When-

"Your Father," started lord Varys with a sweet voice. " as proved to be an awful traitor I'm afraid my dear girls."

"What?! No! Liar! You're a Liar!" accused Arya throwing herself to the man.

"Arya!" chastised Sansa, holding her sister by the shoulder.

Kyria, quick to react, stopped the girl before she could do a terrible mistake.

"Arya please," she said with a frown.

"But he's lying! Father is not a traitor! He would never betray anyone! Ever!" she protested.

"Are you saying that We, the member of the High Council and your Queen, would lie about such a thing?"

"She tried to lie once! So she could kill Lady!" blamed Arya, pointing a finger at the Queen.

"Ayra!"

"Arya that's enough!" boomed Kyria.

She pinned the girl with an ice-cold glare that would have scared even Frost. Sansa gulped and pressed Arya's shoulder. She didn't like to see Kyria angry. It was always very uncomfortable. It used to be so rare.

Arya finally closed her mouth and crossed her arms on her little chest, glaring at everyone in the room. She was fuming.

"King's Robert's body was still warm when Lord Eddard Stark began plotting to Steal Joffrey's Throne and acted on such a horrible plan in the middle of the Throne room, in front of many witnesses, including ourselves and our beloved Queen a- and new King Joffrey." shuttered the trembling voice of Maester Pycelle.

This time it was Sansa who talked. She didn't even do it consciously. It was just unbelievable! Impossible! Absurd!

"He wouldn't do that!" she protested. " He knows how much I love princ- oh, King Joffrey! Please there must have been a mistake! This is not possible!" she pleads.

Kyria pressed her hand.

"Why would our Father do such a thing?" she asked. There was still something very cold in her voice. "He loved Robert like his brother. He'd rather die than betray his memory."

"There must be a mistake." repeated Sansa. "please your grace! Maybe if- if you summoned our Father, he would tell you!" something clicked in her brain. "his leg! He had been wounded he's hurt and in pain and- Maester Pycelle you know that you gave him something for the pain! Maybe that's-"

"Sansa, sweet girl," said the Queen, holding one hand in front of her, as if to ask Sansa to stop talking. "We know your and your sisters are all innocent in this affair, do not trouble yourself. But your Father had been clear in his intentions."

She paused and Sansa didn't dare try to say anything else. Afraid of making everything worse somehow. Inside her head, she tried to think about a moment, something at some point who may have shown her father's innocence or- No this couldn't be. Father was not a traitor. He was the most honorable man of the Seven Kingdoms!

This was a misunderstanding it has to be! There was something they didn't know, something they didn't think about!

"Sansa," said the Queen again, her voice just as soft as before. Sansa shivered. Her eyes were not soft. "Sansa, dear, as innocent as we all think you are, the truth remains the same. You are the daughter of a traitor."

Something cold gripped Sansa's gut. No! No this couldn't be happening! It couldn't! None of this made sense! Father-

Arya moved close to her, but with one harsh tug from Kyria, she remained silent.

"How can I allow the daughter of a traitor to marry my son?" asked the Queen.

Sansa barely felt Kyria stiffen in front of her, her mind lost in a mist of desperate confusion.

No! No, it couldn't happen! This couldn't happen! She loved Joffrey! She was supposed to be his Queen and marry him and giving him blond-haired babies! She wanted to be a queen, just like Queen Cersei! This couldn't happen.

"Where is our Father?" asked Kyria before Sansa could even start voicing her concerns and plea to reconsider and trust her to be a good wife for Joffrey.

Queen Cersei's eyes snapped back at Kyria, the hardness in it suddenly sharper. Sansa felt her breath leave her lungs. Oh no! Kyria was angering the queen! What could she do! If the Queen was angry at her sister she won't want Sansa to be with Joffrey!

"We are announcing you your Father's treason, and you want to see him? Why Lady Kyria one would think you are suspicious in all this affair," said Lord Baelish.

"I didn't say anything of this sort," answered Kyria. "I didn't even say I wanted to see my Father. I merely want to know where he is."

"What use could you have of this information, lady Kyria?" asked Lord Varys, his eyes twinkling. "Your father is where the traitors are brought. This is everything you need to know."

Kyria blinked. She pressed her lips and something passed in her eyes.

Sansa waited a moment more to see if her sister even wanted to talk, but she remained silent.

"Please, your grace, I want to marry your son, I'll be a good wife to him!"

"The seed of treason is strong, your grace." shuttered the old Maester. " those girls, as young as they are, are traitors. Who knows what treason they could hatch in the future." his eyes fell on Arya. "the little one seems very closed to the truth. She may try to do something… harsh."

Sansa looked at Arya. Her face was red with fury. Sansa wished she was as good as Kyria at hiding her emotions. She was going to make everything worse!

"My sister is young and does not understand the… the situation we are in," said Kyria, pressing Arya to her flank.

Like she did with Sansa before, she hides Arya's face in her neck, pressing her lips in her hair for a minute.

"Arya always has been prompt to… passionate reactions. But she's a child. As is Sansa. They wouldn't do anything against the crown."

"And you, little girl? Would you?"

"I would protect my family," said Kyria, an edge in her voice. "If my family is protected by the crown I have no reason to act against it. I'm a girl of simple things my queen."

Queen Cersei shrinks her eyes, analyzing Kyria with it.

"Those girls, are innocent your grace," said Lord Baelish.

Sansa looked at him, hope flowering again inside her. Something was different in his eyes. Was he going to help them? Oh please, make him help them!

"They should be given a chance to prove their loyalty."

Queen Cersei moved her head as if to hear what Lord Baelish was saying.

"And where does their loyalty lie? With the crown and the realm, or with their treacherous Father?" asked Maester Pycelle.

Sansa opened her mouth, ready to proclaim her love for Joffrey and her loyalty for the crown. There was no other choice, nothing else to do! She wanted to be a good wife and a good queen for Joffrey and-

_To your blood first Sansa. Family comes before duty and honor in your mother's house._

It stopped her. Father. Father had said that. She didn't want to betray her Father. But she didn't want to betray the crown!

What to do?!

Feeling more lost than ever, she turned to Kyria, ready to follow her lead. Kyria would know what to do. She always knew. Arya must think the same, as she didn't talk either. Sansa held a trembling breath, waiting anxiously for Kyria to solve everything.

Kyria took a deep breath, looking as composed as she had been since the beginning of all this. How did she manage such a thing? How could she be so calm in such a situation?

"I am loyal to what matters the most my Queen."

"And what is it?"

"My Family."

What?! Why would she-

"Does this mean your loyalty goes to your Father little girl? Are you sure you want to take this path?"

"It means I am loyal to my entire family your grace. My father, my mother, my siblings, all of them. What my father did, no matter what it is truly, betrayed this trust. He put us, his daughters in a difficult situation." she paused, and lowered her eyes.

It hit Sansa then, that it was the first time Kyria did something like that since they entered this room. She looked at everyone right in the eyes before.

"I- Several people came to me, your grace, to warn me that something was happening. That Father was making a mistake and- I tried to tell him to stop. I don't know what he was doing but I tried to stop him. He didn't listen. He put us in danger." she paused again, licking her lips nervously.

Sansa's eyes fell on her sister's hands. They were white and trembling against Arya.

"He didn't listen to me, and now here we are. I don't want my sister and myself to suffer from the consequences of my father's mistakes."

"You would betray your Father?" asked Lord Varys.

"My father betrayed me," she answered, coldness in her eyes.

What?

Sansa's heart stopped. What was that? This side of Kyria, this… anger. Since when was Kyria angry at Father? It didn't sound like her at all, why would she say such a thing?! It didn't make any sense! Kyria wouldn't do that!

But- But they couldn't betray the crown. She was to marry the King! They couldn't do anything against them!

Arya moved in their sister's arms, and the Queen's attention was immediately drawn on her.

"And you?" she asked.

Her voice was different again. But then, it has always been the case when she talked to Arya.

From where she was spotted, Sansa couldn't see her little sister's face, but she saw how tense she was. Almost rigid against Kyria. Arya moved and suddenly, she could see her profile. She seemed to be searching for something in Kyria's face. Her lips were only a thin line, white and angry on her face. The red of her cheek growing slowly into a dark purple that made Sansa wince.

This made her pause again for a minute. Arya looked hurt. It was obvious that someone hit her. Why hadn't the Queen already done something about it? Or Maester Pycelle! He was there for this after all! The least he could do was to treat her sister!

Finally, Arya nodded, looking again at the Queen.

Queen Cersei looked at Sansa then. Sansa didn't lose a second to proclaim her love for Joffrey and her loyalty to the crown. The words flew easily from her lips. But something was different. It was not like before. Something had changed. Her heartfelt hollow with each word coming out of her mouth.

The queen seemed to think. Then she looked back at the three of them.

"Very well. Little dove." she called, grabbing a piece of paper from her desk. "write to your mother, Lady Catelyn and your brother, what's his name again?"

"Robb". Said Kyria her voice cold.

The Queen's eyes snapped back at her.

"Or, better even, you do it, little girl. You are the eldest after all. And I have heard you were close to your brother. Write to him about your father's treason. The news of his arrest must have already reached the North. Explain the situation and… ask him to come here. To pledge his loyalty to my son and the crown."

"Why would she do that?" mumbled Arya.

Sansa shared her sister's opinion. It felt strange to write such a thing without Father's consent. It sounded like… like treason. Against Father and their blood. They couldn't do that. They needed to talk to Father first.

"Could we-" she started slowly.

"I'll do it." cut Kyria with a strong voice.

Under Sansa's astonished eyes, her sister took the paper from the queen, a Quill, and some ink, and start writing. She was doing it? But-

Arya took a step closer, trying to see what Kyria was exactly writing. Sansa was tempted to do the same. She couldn't believe it. She knew what Kyria had just said, had just promised to the Queen, but to write such a strange thing to Robb, it didn't sound like Kyria at all.

Why would she do that? Why would she write such a thing about Father and ask Robb…

To be frank, Sansa didn't get what was bothering her in all this. There was something wrong with this letter, and Father and this thing about treason and- All of it.

She was still convinced that everything was just a big misunderstanding. It had to be. Why else would Father do such a thing? It was madness, to think that her father, the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms would betray his friend like that!

Curiosity took the best of Sansa, and she leaned on her sister's shoulder.

_Robb,_

_I write to you in great distress brother, for things, unfortunately, turned for the worst in Kingslanding. Father committed treason against Joffrey Baratheon and the Queen. He had been arrested. I do not know much, for ladies as ourselves are not allowed to pier in those conversations, but I am asked to invite you, my dear brother, to come here to the capital, and solve this situation personally so we can all go home, assured that justice is served and the wrong is made right again, between our family and the crown._

_I pray you to come as quickly as you can. You must choose wisely the path you will take brother. Be careful not to burn the bridges that could lead you to us brother. I hope for the best._

_Sincerely,_

_Your sister Kyria._

Sansa blinked. Once, twice. But the words were still the same. It didn't make much sense. Well, technically it did, but the words, the way of speaking… It didn't sound like Kyria at all. She knew how her sister wrote in her letters, for she already read several of them, and she never was so… pompous. Why would she talk like that?

She didn't have time to think much more about that, for already Kyria was giving back the paper to the Queen and her adviser, who took a long moment to read it carefully. It made Kyria frown. Sansa too. What were they looking for? Everything they asked was in the paper, wasn't it?

"Is there something wrong?" asked Kyria.

Lord Baelish looked up first. He was frowning contemplatively at Kyria but didn't talk. Lord Varys's eyes were twinkling strangely and Maester Pycelle looked as old as always. With this dead-cat smell that seemed to follow him everywhere. Now that she thought about it, she was kind of grateful that his awful man didn't come closer to treat Arya. He seemed disgusting. So old and smelly and… disgusting!

"Very well, little girl. We will send this to your brother."

Kyria nodded. Sansa's heart finally slows down in her chest as they were escorted out of the room. Gods…

Maybe now Kyria could explain what happened?

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Cersei**

As she watched the three Stark girls exit the room surrounded by Lannister red, Cersei felt a smile crack the solemn mask she wore since they first entered the room.

Perfect. Everything was absolutely perfect. In one afternoon, she had put her beloved son on his throne, arrested the arrogant Ned Stark and grabbed his three precious little daughters in the palm of her hand.

Things couldn't have gone any better. Finally, finally, she would show them the power of the Lannister family. After years and years of suffering under the fat fool her father had married her with, it was her time. Her destiny was finally fulfilled. She had waited her entire life for this moment.

When Stark first came to her, with his so-called knowledge about her children, she had been scared. For one entire minute. But then he had opened his mouth, claiming to want to give her a chance to escape with her children. She could have laughed right at his ugly nose. As if she would ever flee anything! She was a lioness! No one could make her flee! And certainly not her old drunk husband.

The announcement of his imminent death couldn't have come in a better moment. Which, reminded her, she still had to thanks dear Lancel for his wonderful services. Blessed was the day she begged Robert to take him as a squire. He had proved to be very useful. And he was young and wonderfully new which could only be handy as far as she was concerned.

Of course, he was nothing compared to Jaime, but the fool had fled the city right after his confrontation with Stark. He had abandoned her… She still couldn't believe what he has done. After the show he put not even a day before, proclaiming his love for her and the rest, how could he do this to her!

Suddenly annoyed, Cersei dismissed the thought. She'll have all the time to rage about it later, once she's safely alone in her chambers. Or better, once Jaime came back. Now that the wolf was in a cage, he could safely come back to her and forget all this stupidity about Tyrion. If the little monster was fool enough to have himself taken prisoner, he could very well die with the Starks.

That may be the most useful thing they could do for her now.

"Poor girls… such a tragedy" said Varys behind her with this annoying voice of his. "To be burdened by such a Father..."

Poor girls indeed. What a joke.

They had exactly what they deserved. The three of them.

By the seven she couldn't stand those Stark. With their perfect family, and perfect lives. Always parading as if they were better than anyone else. They were not. Stupid tree lovers, with their pathetic little beliefs and customs and whatnot. To think they believed themselves above everyone else. Because of their blood.

They were no better. They were worse. Stupid and naive.

Oh, she couldn't complain. If they had been smarter, Stark before all others, she would have been doomed. But then again, if he had been smarter, she could have bought him.

One way or another, she would have won the game. She played it for too long not to win the thing. Better even, now that she was on top of everything, she made the game.

"The seed of treachery is strong, unfortunately." said Pycelle, answering the eunuch's previous statement. "those girls, will have to be watched closely. Who knows later what machination they could hatch in their twisted brains."

Cersei snorted.

She wasn't worried. If the oldest one seemed a bit smarter than the others, it was nothing compared to her. She was used to those games. This was her field, it had been since she was nothing but a child. Those Stark could try as much as they wanted, in the end, she had the upper hand.

Oh, she had been worried at first. But her little conversation with the girl right after her father's attack had been a relief. She was far from being as smart as everyone around her seem to think. Truly, Cersei had nothing to worry about.

That said, she still had to get rid of her. She was no match against Cersei of course, but she had a strong spine. Better be safe than sorry. The only question would be what to do with her?

"She's hiding something."

Cersei blinked and looked up. What was that?

While she was thinking all of this through, Baelish had moved to the side of her desk and had the letter in his hand. The one the Stark child had written right in front of Cersei a moment ago. What was he saying again?

"What do you mean?" shuttered Pycelle, the disgusting old thing.

"I'm not sure but… This girl is a Stark. This family is loyal to a fault. I doubt she would abandon her Father that easily. Besides she must know how it would be taken for her to send such a letter to her family."

"And how would it be taken?" asked Cersei distractedly.

She didn't have time for this man's paranoia. She had a kingdom to rule by the seven!

"Like treason."

"Absurd! She's doing her duty as a subject of the crown."

"Indeed my queen. But she must know what it could mean for Robb Stark and his mother to come south. They would betray their liege lord's will, no matter how ill-advised it is."

Cersei almost snorts dismissively. Northern fool. All of them.

"Besides, don't you think the tone of her letter to her brother is… strange?" continued the man. "it seemed a bit formal for something destined to a member of her family isn't it?"

This time, Cersei did dismiss the idea.

"The girl is a snotty brat who's convinced she's more clever than anyone else in the room. It wouldn't surprise me that she'd use many words and complicated phrasing to write her letters. She wants to show off, that's all."

"Still your grace, I wonder. Maybe she tried to send a message to her brother."

"That's what we want her to do Lord Baelish." snapped Cersei, "She did exactly what she was asked to do. Your absurd paranoia will lead us nowhere."

Maester Pycelle moved behind her, reminding her of his disgusting presence. Good gods if he was not useful…

"The girl is smart" he shuttered weakly. "She knows when to bow in front of more powerful individuals my Lord."

Cersei moved her hand with annoyance, replacing the soft shale on her shoulders. She was tired of talking about the Starks. They had been her main concern for weeks now. Enough of this.

She had other things to think of now. More important things. Like the Targaryens.

"The girl is smart but arrogant. She challenged us when she had someone to back her up, like her Father. Now she's alone and she knows who she had to bow to keep her head and her sister's safe. She'd be a fool to try anything new." she said dismissively.

"Would she?" wondered the Master of Whispers, his voice almost dreamy in its intonation.

Cersei felt the muscle under her eye twitch with annoyance. She couldn't stand the bald little excuse of a man. Why couldn't she just get rid of him once and for all? This annoying little spider. But then, maybe she could...Baelish was good at knowing things. Not as much as this little man, but enough to be useful.

That said, Baelish was as good as he was slimy. She couldn't be sure of his loyalty. And the eunuch had the decency to be predictable, with his lack of desire for power. With him at least she didn't fear for a knife in the heart.

 _Or the_ _throat_ _…_ she thought with a smile.

Yes, Ned Stark had proved how dangerous it was to trust a man like Littlefinger.

The bald man would have to stay for now. She'll find him a replacement soon enough anyway.

"I still think there is more than what meets the eye."

"Don't be absurd. Her father is locked up in our donjons, both her sisters are under our thumbs, just as she is. What do you want her to do? She won't risk her pathetic life for that."

"Maybe Lord Eddard told her about his intentions?" proposed Pycelle.

"No. The man is a fool. He wouldn't have included his daughters he was overprotecting them." said Baelish.

Cersei agreed. Those girls had no cards to play. No move, no power, nothing. Just their pretty faces and their cunt. It was enough for them to worth something but that was it.

"Enough about those girls. Maester Pycelle, please send a raven to Winterfell with the girl's letter. With luck Robb Stark is as clever as his sisters." she said, dismissing the note with a wave of her hand.

And if he was not, well there were still ways to get rid of annoying pieces on the board. She didn't have much to fear from a green boy.

"Now, Lord Varys," she called softly.

"My Queen?"

"What is this business about the Targaryen children? Robert couldn't shut up about it for days."

"Oh nothing of great importance my Queen, little songs whispered in my ears. We have time to deal with those."

"I would like to hear it," she said, an edge on her voice that warned the bald man not to cross her.

She already successfully get rid of one member of the High Council, and the day was not over yet. She could still do the same for another. She'd waited years for her useless husband to die, she didn't plan to let go of her position now. Or ever. The infamous Legacy her father had spent years talking about was finally beginning and as the new King's mother she was the most important woman in all those Kingdoms. It was time for those old useless men to understand that.

"Well, apparently the Targaryen children have found refuge in the house of a merchant in Pentos. Someone called Ilyrio Mopatis it thinks." answered the bald man. " The man is well known in the city as one of the richest and the most powerful. He… well, apparently the beggar Prince Viserys Targaryen plans to sell his sister princess Daenerys Targaryen to a horselord in exchange for an army."

"A horse lord? You mean a Dothraki?" asked Baelish, amused.

Cersei blinked. Were they stupid? How marrying the Targaryen girl to a horse lord could help them gain the Iron Throne? The Dothraki would never cross the Narrow sea!

But still. Even if this plan was a failure, the problem would remain. Even worse, the girl could have a son. If the Targaryen bloodline remains, they could cause massive problems in the future. There were other armies in Essos that were not scared of the sea.

No, it couldn't stay that way. They had to stop them. To prevent this stupidity from happening.

"What had been done about it?"

The three men exchange glances. They had all slowly migrated in front of her since the girls' departure, now that they didn't need to appear as a strong and intimidating front for those girls. They all exchanged little glances, sharpening Cersei's attention.

"Well… to be fair your grace," started Baelish with some hesitation.

It angered her. What was it to hesitate? It was a simple question.

"The King and his Hand disagreed with this, peculiar piece of information," said Varys with a bow, as if to whisper it in a closed up conversation. " The question had never really been solved after their first discussion."

"I see… Well, it's simple. We just have to kill them. The two of them. We should have done that years ago actually. This is bothering that they lived that long."

Again, hesitation.

"What?" asked Cersei annoyed.

"We know of the Dothraki who may be… married to the girl," said Varys. "He is known as one of the most dangerous men alive. My little birds tell me very disturbing tales concerning the man. He's a beast. He fears nothing and no one. Not even the gods of his people. "

"And? What's your point?" said Cersei, tired of this nonsense.

She hadn't called them to her to talk about savages and their supposed fears or lack of in this situation.

"He had been promised a Westerosi wife my Queen." continued Varys.

Cersei rolled her eyes.

"The girl was born in Essos Lord Varys she's as Westerosi as the sky is green. Having a Westerosi mother and brother does not make her one."

" The matter stays the same. For her brother and the man who hosts them, she's a Princess from Westeros. Killing her before Khal Drogo can reclaim his price may anger him."

"I still don't see the point Varys."

Baelish seemed to have because he ended up the sentence for his bald friend.

"An angry Dothraki who is not scared of the Sea could very well come to our door and ask for retribution..."

Cersei paled.

A Dothraki in Westeros. A Dothraki army in Westeros. That would be catastrophic. Even if they knew nothing of them and their way of fighting, they were still one of the most feared groups in the entire world. Knew to never give up and always come back, with each assault.

No, she couldn't allow that.

"Find something," she said. "Prevent the Targaryen bitch to marry the savage and find something to stop him from invading us."

Baelish's face broke in a strange smile.

"If I may your grace, I have an idea."

Cersei blinked.

Half an hour later, the three men left the room satisfied with the discussion. Cersei, now alone, cackled happily.

Perfect.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

A knock on the massive door almost made her jump. Annoyed she watched as her broken quill who now lay pathetically in the letter she had been writing. Suppressing the need to scream at the idiot who dared interrupting her work she stood abruptly.

"What is it!?"

What could they possibly want now? She hoped for their sake that it was important.

"Your grace!" called a guard, out of breath. "The youngest Stark! She escaped!"

Cersei almost regretted her already broken quill.

"What?!"

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> So?
> 
> Anyone?
> 
> If any of you feel the sudden need to throw rotten tomatoes at me it's normal! It's a perfectly sensible emotion when you're confronted at such a cliffhanger. Yes, I am mean. No, I do not regret it. The DRAMA dear readers! Always think about the DRRRAAAMA!
> 
> Besides, now you may be angry enough to voice it *hopeful eyes* like, ya know in a comment or something like that..? *smile, nudge nudge, wink wink*
> 
> Am I annoying? Sorry...
> 
> Anyway, what do you think? Good? Bad? Awfull? Shadapandgohome?
> 
> Share it with the class come on!
> 
> You may not believe me with everything I do to her but Sansa is actually my favorite character in GOT. Like, she's my Queen, the goddess with redhear! I love her! Like LUVE love!
> 
> So yeah maybe I'm mean to her for now... I don't know, she just feels like a little brat in the beginning and she kind of needs the bratty phase to evolve in her godlike magnificence later. No, I'm not dramatic. I have no idea what you're talking about.
> 
> I may not be as subtle as I think I am in the Cersei part, now that I think about it. But I had to put it like that. Cersei is very hard to write for me. Because I don't like her. Like, not at all. I mean, I get where she comes from but still, I can't stand her. Which is paradoxical and something I experience with a few characters on the show. I can't stand them but I love the actors who play them. They awake very confused feelings inside my fragile little heart...
> 
> I'll try to update as soon as I can, but I haven't started the next chapter yet and I kind of like to take my time in editing those things as much as I can so they can be as close as perfection as possible. Or, at least my very imperfect idea of perfection.
> 
> Does that make sense?
> 
> Anyway, I'll try to be quick guys! But I'm not sure at all if I will be able to publish this month... I prefer to warn you.
> 
> Share your opinion I always like to read it. It warms my little heart, and don't forget to follow and fave the story if you like it!
> 
> See ya next time!
> 
> Bubyyya!


	17. Chapter 17: Consequences

**Chapter 17: Consequences**

**Year 298 after the Conquest, Ninth Month.**

**Kingslanding**

**Arya**

Arya was furious.

Why did that happen? With Cersei, Father, Kyria, Sansa! What was that?! How could they?!

They took Syrio away! They dismissed him as a mere nuisance! How could they?! What right do they have to chase away her master!? What right do they have to threaten them like that?! To Arrest her father?! How dare they accuse him to be a traitor! Her father was not a traitor! He was the most honorable man in the entire Realm! They were just nasty old men soured and rotten to their pathetic little cores who couldn't stand the idea of a man as good and perfect as her father!

And Septa! They had killed Septa Mordane! Her Septa! How could they!? Arya never really liked the new gods but she knew them! To kill one of their servants was a great fault! One of the greatest! Stupid fools! Septa didn't deserve to die! To have her head cut like a criminal! In the middle of a corridor! Fools! Coward! If she had been there…

Oh, she would have killed them! All of them with their fancy cloaks and shiny armors! She was quick and she was good! She would have taken them all!

The worst of it is that no one complained! They let a woman, a holy woman being cut like a pig in the middle of the corridor and they did nothing! Like there was nothing out of ordinary!

But there was! This was wrong! So so so much wrong!

And other people had been hurt! She knew it. Those screams… She could still hear them. So many people were screaming and no one moved or tried to do something. All foolish stupid cowards! The whole pack of them!

She couldn't believe one of those stupid knights had hit her. She tried to ignore how much it had hurt. I still did. But she won't complain. She refused to. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. She was a Wolf of the North, with the blood of the first men in her vein. No stupid little knight would ever make her cry. Never. She swore it.

If Father knew, he would have killed this fool. Robb too. And Jon. If they knew they would have-

But Father was not there. Robb and Jon were never there to begin with but Father was locked up now. All because of those… those fuckers! Fuckers yeah! Those fuckers had locked her father up like some criminal!

They couldn't do that! They had no right to do that!

Anger was building and building inside her, with each step she took that put her further away from the Queen's room. How could they do that? Why would they do that? Those mean stupid people. All of them. She hated them. She should have killed them when she could! If Kyria hadn't held her back!

Oh if only she had Needle with her. But they took it away from her too! They took Syrio! As if they had any right on him. He was their master he was her teacher!

All those screams. Resonating in the corridors. She could still hear them. They were long gone but she could hear it... It was awful. Why would they do that?!

She remembered the Throne room. The people on the floor. Some of them she recognized. She could swear she had seen them before. With her father. She wondered. Were those the people who screamed in the corridors? Where- Where they the people who came with them from the North?

What was wrong with the people around here?!

Arya huffed angrily, looking between Sansa and Kyria's back, both in front of her. They forced her to shut up in front of the Queen. Kyria obeyed the Queen. Sansa bowed to the Queen like a slave. Why?

And that letter! How could Kyria do something like that?! Those people had locked Father up like some kind of animal, they betrayed Father, they stabbed him in the back, and Kyria still helped them! How could she do that! Betrayal ran deep in Arya's gut. She had trusted her sister to do the good thing. The right thing. She was the one who kept talking about family and responsibilities. She scolded Sansa all the time about it since they left Winterfell. How could she do something like that!?

To see Sansa crawl at the Queen's feet had not surprised her. She was disappointed of course and angry that Sansa could turn her back on their family and everything they hold dear so easily, but she was not surprised. Sansa always liked the Queen better than her or Kyria. She even trusted the Queen above Kyria!

But Kyria was supposed to know better! She said it! When Arya accepted to spy for her! She hadn't wanted to, but Kyria had said it was to protect them all. How could she betray that! Arya trusted her!

More than anything else, it was the idea of Kyria's betrayal that angered her. She couldn't understand how her big sister could be such a hypocrite! She was supposed to be better! She was Kyria! Kyria was smarter and wiser and cleverer than anyone else Arya ever met before!

Why would she be so stupid and bow to Cersei like that?! After what they just learned, what they just witnessed?!

Her thought was confusing, jumping from anger to indignation to anger again. Betrayal and confusion were gripping her gut with an ice-cold hand and she didn't know how to deal with all of this. She didn't know what to think anymore.

The little girl shacked, holding back furious tears as she followed the red cloaks that surrounded them. She looked white and sick. Two angry red patches colored her cheeks, and her burning eyes couldn't drop from her sister's backs.

She was so deep in her thought she barely noticed the door appearing in front of them.

"Get inside." ordered the soldier on their right.

Kyria shushed them inside, a cold hand on Arya's back. Biting back a snap, the little girl took a look at her sister's protest dies in her throat. She looked deathly pale, the pressure on the muscles of her jaw looked like they were close to just snap. Her eyes were huge and sharp. She looked scary. Affraid. Terrifed.

The door slammed right behind Arya, leaving her finally alone with her sisters. She was to open her mouth, to scream, rage, express all the anger that was boiling inside her. But before she could do that, she found herself stopped by Kyria's explosion.

Under her eyes, her composed, always calm big sister started to pass anxiously around the room, her hands furiously gripping her hair, her eyes huge and febrile. She was mumbling something but Arya was too far to hear it. And she didn't really want to get closer.

Kyria seemed panicked. Close to faint. Or explose in thousand little pieces.

She took a prudent step closer, not sure what she was supposed to do with her sister. But stopped. That was strange, unusual. She didn't know what to do with her own feeling and the bruning something in front of her.

Suddenly Kyria slapped her hands against the closest table, making both younger girls jump at the loud sound.

"FUCK!" she screamed furiously.

A loud bang echoed somewhere in the short corridor on their right, but Arya ignored it. She watched as Kyria slammed the table, again and again, making it tremble with the strength she put in it. With her hair disheveled around her face and her eyes huge and red, she looked mad.

"Kyria?" called Sansa slowly.

" We're fucked! We're fucking trapped in this blasted city! Oh, it's a mess. It's a mess, It's a fucking mess!" babbled Kyria, one of her hand pushing her hair back. "Gods, good gods, how are we supposed to get out of this now. How are we supposed to- Oh no, it's such a fucking, fucking mess! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

She couldn't say why or how, but seeing Kyria like this broke something inside Arya. Something snapped. I exploded inside her chest and she couldn't hold it back anymore. Everything she had ruminated burst out of her mouth.

"Why did you do it?!" she accused a finger pointed at her panicking sister. "Why didn't you say the Queen to fuck off!? You said we had to stick together! You said we couldn't fight each other! You liar! You lied! You betrayed Father! You're a Liar and a Coward! Both of you!" her finger moved to Sansa's astonished face. Then back to Kyria. "Why did you do that!? Family is supposed to be important! More than anything else! You said that Kyria! Why did you do that!?"

"Shut up! The Prince-"

"I don't care about your stupid Prince! He locked Father in a cell! I should kill him! I should kill him like the stupid pig he is!"

"Shut up Arya!" snapped Kyria, her eyes suddenly alert and burning a hole right through Arya's little body.

Arya gasped in the middle of her rambling.

"You shut your mouth! Both of you!" she ordered a finger right under their noses. "Do you have any idea of the mess we are in? Do you!?"

Arya blinked, astonished by the anger in her sister's voice. Kyria was never angry. Or so rarely. But never like that.

"I- we-" started Sansa.

"No you don't!" cut Kyria throwing her arms as if she wanted to throw them at the wall.

Somehow, Ayra wouldn't be surprised if she did. Anger was bumping out of her like waves of heat. Burning and threatening.

"Father got himself locked up in a cell. We are officially hostages. All three of us! One wrong move, one wrong word and we're dead! Or worse!"

"But- I- I am betrothed to the King, surely he wouldn't-" tried again Sansa.

" Arya is the sister of the King's betrothed and she had been slapped like a nuisance! Why would you be so different?! You're nothing! None of you are worth a blink for them don't you get that?!" raged Kyria. "We should have left when we had the chance. All of us. Or better, we should never have left Winterfell."

"But Kyria, I'm about to be Queen! No one would attack the Queen family!"

"They put Father in a cell! He's your family too isn't he?!"

Sansa blushed, then paled.

"He's yours too! You betrayed him!"

"I didn't!" protested Kyria immediately.

"You did! I heard you! I saw you write this letter to Robb!"

Kyria opened her mouth, then sighed pitching her nose between her fingers. Her back was round, as one of an old person. She looked older.

"What you saw was me trying to protect you two." she groaned finally. "I was playing the game."

"What game?!"

"Their game!"

She pointed her finger to the wall. In the general direction of the room, they just left.

"Their games of politics and intrigues and everything else!"

"Why?!"

"Because it's the only way to survive here! What do you think they will do to us if we protest a bit much? They won't just slap you next time Arya!"

"We are high born daughters of a-"

"Our family name means nothing here Sansa! This is not the North! Do you know how the other Kingdoms see a northern man?"

"I-"

"Like a Wildling, only on the other side of the Wall," she said harshly. "We are savages who mean nothing to those pompous politicians and nobles people. We are little girls thrown in the middle of a giant snake pit. And no one will protect us. No one! Not like Father would!"

She sighed, defeated and sat in the closest chair. She dropped her head in her hands, hiding her face from the world. Arya watched her, lost between anger and confusion. Part of her wanted to snap again at Kyria, for what she did back with the Queen and those men, for what she said. For how she behaved like she knew everything.

But what she was saying. It resonated in Arya's brain. Touching something here, that she tried very hard to ignore.

"Alright, Arya, you're angry with me," she said and Arya couldn't not roll her eyes at that because _really? You think?_ "Because you think I betrayed our family."

"You did! You said it, I heard you! And then you wrote this letter!"

"Did I?"

"We both saw you Kyria," said Sansa, her voice very strange and calm in all of Arya's whirling fillings. "You wrote that letter in front of everyone."

"Not the letter. Did you heard me say that I would betray our family?"

"You said Father betrayed you first!" accused Arya "You lied! Father never betrayed you!"

"He did. I trusted him to protect us all and to do the right thing when it was necessary. He didn't. He didn't do any of that, even though I warned him again and again about this place and those people and whatever it was he was searching. He didn't listen to me and now, because of it, we are stocked here!" her voice came louder and louder, ending up nearly shooting to their face. She took another deep breath as if to try to control herself or something like that. Arya wanted to roll her eyes, everything was always about control with was annoying! She wanted to shoot, to be angry, then she should do it! Arya certainly was not going to restrain herself! "He didn't listen, and he put us in danger. He betrayed the trust I had in him."

Arya blinked. It made sense. That was what was worse. It made sense. She would have preferred it wouldn't. Now she felt angry and stupid. It made her even angrier.

Who was she to scold them like that?! If she was so sure that everything would have gone wrong since the beginning, why didn't she do something?

"Then you should have said something! You did nothing!"

"I tried! It was just like I said, I tried to do something! But I can't act if no one, especially Father is listening to me!"

Kyria breathed again, her hands trembling for a minute. She breathed a long time this time, and Arya had to stop herself from punching something. Kyria's face, Sansa's, anything. Even though she wanted it.

"Now, did anyone of you heard me said I would betray my family? Those exact words." Kyria said again.

She talked slowly, word after word, and it annoyed Arya even more.

She frowned and thought about it. Really thought about it. She remembered Kyria saying Father had betrayed her. Then she wrote that letter. That stupid pompous letter. It was proof, wasn't it? She had been so sure then, so angry. But now she was confused. Why all of this? Why those words, why all of those double meanings and machinations, and plots and she couldn't even say what else. Why couldn't she just say the thing she was thinking? Kyria always told the truth! That was what annoy Septa Mord-

The little girl flinched. Septa… Septa was dead. They had seen her in the corridors. The gold cloaks killed her. Those people killed her. Why? Why?!

"You didn't," mumbled Sansa. "You didn't say it."

"I didn't." agreed Kyria. "that's what the game is. That's politics. I used truth, something I felt, something I thought, and I told it to them, without the part that matters. The part that is just as true."

"What part?" groaned Arya.

"Family."

Arya frowned. She was not making much sense to her and it pissed her off. Now was not the time to be so cryptic!

"Why would you play their game?"

"Because we're already part of it. They will keep us, they won't let us go now. Not if Robb does what I think he will do. What I asked him in this fucking letter!" groaned Kyria in an outburst she didn't seemed to control. "They will keep us as long as they can. Because we matter to the North, and Mother and Robb. We're hostages. That makes us pawn in their games. If we don't play the game, they will smash us. They'll do anything with us because we have no one to protect us from! We are at their mercy!"

Arya crossed her arms defensively in her chest. A part of her was hearing what her sister said. But what she only took form all this nonsense was that those people believed they could keep her here. Her and the wolves. Idiots. They couldn't. They won't.

"DO you understand what it means?" asked Kyria.

Sansa shacked her head before Arya could talk. Not that she wanted to. A plan was already forming in her head, slowly moving to place and, if she was lucky, something that would allow her to snuggle right under their noses.

"You must not allow them to control you completely," she said.

"But the Queen and the pr-"

"Sansa for the love of all the gods that ever existed shut up about the Queen and hear what I say!" exploded Kyria.

Arya jumped.

"They won't save you! You're not a princess of a song! You're a tool! Stop thinking you're not because they won't forget! If they can hurt you, break you into something they could use, they will! Think of Elia Martell and her children! Think of Queen Rhaella, of Maegor the cruel's wives! They may have been Targaryens, but the principle is the same!"

Sansa burst in messy sobs, shaking violently with her sorrow and Arya had to take a step back. Seeing Sansa cry like that was uncomfortable, but right now, Arya didn't want to feel bad for her. She had been the one who stayed attached to the Queen and the Prince and her idea of what they should be. It wasn't her fault if Sansa had been too stupid to understand that it was only a dream.

Kyria took Sansa into her arms. Arya frowned. She didn't look pleased that she had to comfort Sansa. The little girl snorted. She would have punched her if it was her. And the girl would have deserved it. She was stupid.

"I can't clean all of your messes Sansa. You have to learn to shut your mouth and use your brain. You and Arya both." said Kyria. Arya frowned. She didn't mess up! Not Like Sansa!

"I don't need you to clean up for me! I can manage on my own!"

"Can you? So you wanted to get punched by the guard?" snared Kyria full of irony.

"I- It's still better than doing nothing! At least I tried to understand!"

"Understand what? That our people were slaughtered in the corridors? That we were arrested like criminals?! You could have gotten that by yourself if you had stopped fighting for a minute and kept your mouth shut!"

"Not everyone thinks they are as smart as you!"

"It has nothing to do with me!"

"Then why didn't you do something if things were so wrong?! You did nothing! You're a coward!"

Arya fled the room before the other girl could answer. She found the wolves in one small room, all three of them attached to the wall with big chains. Lady was prostrated in the far corner of the room, whining and crying like a pup. Frost and Nymeria were growling around her, passing and snapping.

Nymeria, once she saw her, tried to run to her, tail wagging on her back. The chain stopped her mid-course.

Arya made the rest of the way, a plan slowly forming on her mind.

If Kyria and Sansa wanted to play hostages, it was fine by her. She won't let herself get caught like that. She was no one's prisoner! She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. No one would never keep her prisoner, that she would swear!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Ned**

Darkness.

It was the only thing around him. Darkness. He couldn't even see his hands or his nose. He knew he was against a wall. The cold hard surface was a good give away. But other than that, he couldn't even say how big the room was. Or where was the door.

He knew where he was of course. He had read enough about this place to recognize it. The Black cells.

It was the only logical place where they could lock him up. And he knew why. They wanted to break him.

He was alone, isolated in the darkness of the place. Without any way or mean to know how much time was passing. The only thing he could do was thinking.

How things could have gone so wrong so quickly?

No. No that was not the good question. He knew, how things had gone wrong.

He only had to close his eyes to hear her again. The despair in her voice. The tears on her face.

_Do you remember my nightmare?_

_Someone cut a head. And it rolls right to mu feet. This head, it's yourself_

_They are not just dreams Father!_

_You have to listen to me!_

_Father, I beg you, whatever you are doing, whatever you are searching around the Lannister's business, stop it. Stop it and bring us back home. Where we're safe._

He should have listened. His poor girl. His poor clever little girl. He should have listened to her. He could picture her, like it was yesterday, grabbing his arm in her small hands, begging him to go, to reconsider. To leave this place. He didn't listen, then he had been wounded and before he could think again, everything was over. He discovered the ugly truth about the Queen and her brother, the Crown Prince completely Lannister, and he had trusted the wrong person.

He knew it was his fault. Baelish had betrayed him, yes, and the Queen and her guard had arrested him, slaughtering his entire household while they were at it. But he started it all.

Kyria had been right. They should have stayed home. Where it was safe.

He was angry. At himself mostly. Why couldn't he listen to his own blood? Had he truly become that arrogant? That blinded by his own opinion?

Why couldn't he listen to his own children?

He had a lot of time to think about his mistakes. As he had said to the Queen, he made a lot of them during his life. Now that he had all the time in the world to think about it, maybe he could say one of them was not allowing himself time with his children. Other than Robb, who, of course as his heir had to spend a lot of time with him. But he never really thought about spending time with the rest of them.

He let Catelyn take care of their education. The girls most of all. He didn't know what to do with girls so he never really tried. He never really spend time around young girls before his daughters. Lyanna had not been the best example in femininity and at the Eyre, he had only Robert and Jon.

He just let his wife take the lead and watched from afar.

Now maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he could have spent more time with them. Those few afternoons with Kyria Robb and Jon in the Godswood couldn't count. As much as he had tried to teach them some things it was so small compared to fifteen years of neglect.

Maybe that was why. He hadn't spent enough time with them. He hadn't seen them grow up. He didn't think his little girl could have been wiser than him. He didn't even need to close his eyes to see his girl as she had been. Young, small and happy. His sweet little girl. His first girl.

Fool. He was a bloody fool, nothing else. Maybe she was still young, but his girl certainly had a good head on her shoulders. She hadn't been a child for a long time now. He couldn't even say when it had changed. He didn't know.

Fool.

He should have listened to her.

He had time to think in his dark cells. He thought of his mistakes. Should he have kept his mouth shut when he learned the truth? No. It had been the right thing to do. Giving the Queen a chance to save her children.

Ned frowned.

She did… somehow. Just not the way he thought she would. He thought she was going to run away. He underestimated her thirst for power. He truly was a fool. Why would she had run? When she could betray him?

The worst was that he didn't even think about it. The possibility of betrayal. It was not right to put the boy on the throne. He had no right on it. But why would she bother with rights? A woman who had slept with her brother. More than once obviously.

He had thought he was doing the right thing. He had thought he was… honorable.

A fool.

Ned couldn't say how long he stayed here. It was dark and lonely.

Until the door opened again. The light blinded him for a long moment. He hid his face in his arms, hissing in pain.

Someone moved a torch in front of his face, and Ned hissed again.

"My poor Lord Stark..."

He knew this voice. Of course.

Varys. Why was he there? What else could he want? After everything.

"What do you want Lord Varys?" raped Ned, his throat hurting with lack of use.

"Oh do not trouble yourself with me, my Lord. I am but a poor spider. A messenger for someone else."

"What are you talking about?" grunted Ned.

Something moved behind the cloaked figure of the Master of Whispers. Ned blinked and met two familiar blue eyes.

"I told you so." trembled the voice.

"Kyria..."

He made a move to stand up, take her in his arms, anything, but the sharp pain in his leg stopped him. She made a strangled noise and went through the few inches that separated them. She threw her arms around his neck, and Ned had to bite back a wince. Sitting here with his wounded leg in such a place is a very bad idea indeed. But then again, did it matter? He wouldn't last long there anyway...

He started to understand how Cersei might think.

"What are you doing here girl? You shouldn't have come..." he rumbled softly.

He couldn't say he was truly angry with her though. She was there. His clever girl. She was there and he couldn't have been happier to see a friendly face in the hell that was his life.

"Lord Varys offered to help me," she said softly.

He took his time looking at her. She looked like her mother. People were always saying how much Sansa looked like his Cat. And she did, of course, remarkably. But she had something more. Something he knew was coming from his side of the family. Something he was sure would make her one of the most beautiful women in all the Seven Kingdoms. But Kyria… she looked like Cat now. Like she was right now with her little nose and large eyes. It was hard to see it, generally, people tended to compare her to her brother rather than her mother. But now that he had only her to look at, he saw it.

Those eyes, full of sorrow and contained anger were his Cat's eyes.

"Father..." she said hollowly. "Why did you do that?"

He sighed.

"I- it was the right thing to-"

"No, it was not. It was stupid and irresponsible. Lord Varys told me of what you did. All of it."

Cold fear gripped Ned's throat. He turned his burning gaze on the little man.

"You-"

"I'm afraid your daughter can be very persuasive my Lord. She would have understood on her own anyway."

Ned had to take a couple of deep breaths, only to stop his rising panic. Part of him was rebelling at the mere idea of his girl in danger because of this. He knew he sent to Stannis this letter. Soon the entire kingdom would know about the Queen's little secrets. Including his own family. But Kyria… she could be killed for that.

"What- What has he told you exactly?" he managed finally.

"Everything. What you did, what you tried to do, what you discovered." she paused, her eyes searching something on his face. "So that was it… The thing that was so important you put your entire family in danger..."

"Kyria-"

"Don't even try to deny it Father!" she snapped, her entire demeanor changing completely. "You are locked in a cell by a power-hungry bastard King who you just challenged! Our entire household had been slaughtered, practically right in front of us! I had to write a letter to Robb telling him to come here to pledge his sword to Joffrey! And don't be a fool if he comes here alone he'll never go back home! All of this for what? So you can know why your precious Jon Arryn died?! So that you could go to the Queen and throw your brand new knowledge right on her face?! So you could do the right thing?! Well, guess what?! The right thing could very well kill us all!"

"My lady lower your voice!" warned Varys behind them.

His head was out of the cell, looking in the corridors, searching for spies or people susceptible to hear them.

Kyria took a deep breath, her eyes tightly closed.

"Kyria, it was the right thing to do."

"You're a fool Father." she groaned. "A fool who just started a war." she accused, the calmness of her voice cutting deeper than the screams earlier.

The guilt that had been floating at the edge of his brain explode inside him. She looked defeated. Tired. Almost old, with this light suddenly extinct in her eyes.

"Kyria, I'm sorry for not listening to you," he said finally, his throat tight. "You were right my girl and I am very proud of the smart, wise woman you are becoming." he paused.

"But?" she cut in.

He smiled. His smart girl.

"But I don't want you to come back here."

"Father-"

"You are right. I am a fool. I should have go when you told me to instead of following Baelish." his teeth greeted at the mere mention of that slimy traitor. "But those are my mistakes. I can't train you and your sisters in this mess."

"You don't get it, do you?" she said hollowly.

"My Lord," interrupter Varys, kneeling in front of Ned with a skin in his hand. "I'm afraid your daughters are now a ward of the crown. And they will stay that way until your release, or your son's arrival to the capital."

"Neither can happen without blood now," said Kyria. "I tried to send a message to Robb. But even if he does not get it, he's still smart enough to know he won't be able to leave peacefully if he comes here alone. He'll fight to free us..." she rubbed her face. "and you threatened Joffrey and Cersei, both of them. None will let you leave this place."

"Kyria,"

"No. I warned you, Father. I tried again and again, but you couldn't listen. How could I know, after all, I'm just a stupid girl am I?"

"Kyria-"

"If I see your head leave your shoulders Father, I will never forgive you." she threatened, her voice full of restrained tears.

Ned hushed her, pulling her face close to his shoulder, in an attempt to stop the waterfall he felt close to coming. She trembled a little, for a short time. His shoulder wet with her tears, but too soon, she had to pull back.

"We have to go now my Lord," said Varys, offering him the skin.

Ned drank it. The man had brought him his daughter, he could be trusted not to poison him. Not that it mattered much in the end.

"Lord Varys..." he said offering back the skin. "I know I can't ask you anything. But take care of them please."

"I am no knights my Lord." answered the man.

They left at that. His brave girl looked at him one last time, her slim silhouette lightened by the fire behind her. He tried to stick to this vision, feeling it like the last time he could look at those sad eyes. One way or another, he couldn't possibly leave this place in one piece.

As the door locked behind her in a loud sound, leaving him again in the dark, Ned prayed his gods. He prayed his mistakes hadn't doomed his family. He prayed them to protect his girls, his sons, Cat. _Jon._ He prayed for all of this to end well.

He even dared to pray for his head. The idea of his children witnessing his beheading scarier than anything else suddenly.

 _Please hear me out…_ He prayed.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Sansa**

Everything was confusing. She was tired, sad, scared, confused and so many other things she couldn't even name.

She didn't understand what was happening around her. The fight between Kyria and Arya still fresh in her mind. The words there, the expression on their faces. The sound of the door slamming in the corridor. She hadn't understood. Why all of this was happening? Why?

She felt even more confused when out of nowhere, Kyria disappeared too, following a small girl in one of the rooms. Sansa felt tempted to follow her. But the outburst she witnessed earlier stopped her. She didn't want to suffer another lecture from Kyria. Not after what just happened.

Too much happened really. Too much too soon. So she found the last door, opposite to the others, and locked herself in.

She cried again then, letting go of all the things she couldn't deal with in loud embarrassing sobs. She stayed like this for a long time, wishing above all else that Lady was there with her. She had no idea where her dear companion was, but somehow she knew she was not around. A part of her knew the Queen wouldn't allow them to keep their friends so close.

The idea made her cry harder. Everything had gone so wrong so fast! How could things have turned this way?

Now she was treated like a criminal, even though she was the new King's betrothed! She was alone and sad and no one was helping her!

She could have spent the rest of her days crying, but too soon, noises in the parlor caught her attention.

Unable to resist her growing curiosity, Sansa wiped her face and slowly made her way to the door, her entire attention on the voices behind it.

Soon, she recognized her sister's. She was talking to a man. The voice seemed equally familiar to the girl.

"...don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you, my Lord."

"You live a troubled day my dear lady Kyria." answered the voice. " You are braver than most, doing what you do."

"Can you send it soon? I need them to arrive before the letter the Queen made me write to Robb."

Letter? What was that about? Kyria had more letters? Why not give them to the Great Maester?

"The three letters will leave tonight my lady, do not fret."

"How can I not? Father won't stay long in those cells, we both know it."

"Your Father in this cell is the best guarantee the King can have of the North good behavior."

Kyria didn't answer, but a sigh was heard after a moment.

"Yet, you are right. If the great Lion was there, Lord Eddard could still be saved. But the Queen is passionate in her anger."

"And her son is a spoiled little shit, we both know it Lord Varys."

Lord Varys? Kyria was talking with Lord Varys? But- Why?

"Be careful with your words my lady. Walls have ears around here."

"Even if I didn't talk like that, you'd be naive to think I will last long in this city."

The man didn't answer. Sansa's heart climbed its way to her throat. What did she mean by that? Was Kyria planning her escape? How? Why? Would she leave them here? Sansa and Arya and the wolves? Father?

It didn't make any sense. None of it!

"Don't worry about your correspondence, my dear. I will send it. My little bird flies high and far from this place."

"I wish I didn't have to ask this to you, my lord."

"This is no trouble."

"As for my part..."

"Don't worry. I will receive my payment in due time, I trust your word on it."

"You have it. Thank you, my lord."

Sansa heard something moving in the other room. Lord Varys probably. Then nothing. A long, uncomfortable silence fell on the entire place. Then something moved again. Sansa stayed at the door, too scared and confused to even move away. Something was pushing her in this position, forcing her to listen to everything happening on the other side.

She waited, for something. Anything really. A clue, to understand what was happening around here. In her sister's mind. But nothing came.

After an agonizing minute, Sansa dared take the last step to the door and slowly grabbed the handle.

That's when she heard it. It was small and barely noticeable, but still, she heard it. Sansa opened the door.

She found Kyria collapsed in an armchair, her face in her hands, shaking with silent sobs. From time to time, small sniffs escaped her. Sansa took another step. Kyria...

The door busted open.

"Get in there girl!"

"LET GO OF ME!"

Sansa gasped a cry at the imposing silhouette of the Hound dragging Arya inside the parlor with one of his giant paw crushing her tiny arm. The girl was fighting him with everything she had, her face and clothing all dirty and ripped in some places. One of her eyes seemed to slowly change its color to a worrying blue.

"Arya!" called Sansa alarmed.

"What is happening? Where does she come from?!" pressed Kyria, her face marbled with tears.

"The little bitch tried to escape with your pets."

"She what?!"

"Caught her close to the old dragon skulls with the beasts."

"Where are they?"

The hound grunted, half throwing Arya to Kyria's feet. Sansa grabbed the girl closer with shaking hands, while Kyria was pinning the monstrous man with all the strength of her gaze. The man snorted, unphased.

"Where are the wolves?!" she demanded again.

"Locked them in a cell. The Queen won't have it otherwise." snorted the man, his lips curled on his teeth like a dog.

Kyria waved on her feet.

"You will stay in this room. The first who goes out will be killed," he ordered again, an armored finger pointing the floor.

Sansa jumped again when he slammed the door close. Arya slapped Sansa's hands from around her and ran to the door.

"Arya!"

"NO! Come back you bastard! Give them back! Give them back!" screamed the girl in a fit Sansa hadn't seen in a long time.

"Arya!"

"He took them! This fucker took them! GIVE THEM BACK!" she kept on.

"ARYA THAT'S ENOUGH!" boomed Kyria.

Sansa whined again.

"No!" said Arya. "I want them back! They will- They-"

"You shut that mouth, you come right here and you listen to me!" growled their sister.

Sansa thought she had seen her angry before. But never like that. She looked mad. Like something had snapped inside. Sansa took a step back. She had never been like that before.

"Why should I listen to you!?" said back, Arya.

"Because if you keep going they will storm right back in this room and beat the shit out of you until you shut your mouth, you stupid girl!"

Arya's jaw cracked with it slapping shut.

"Don't you get it? We are nothing! The first occasion they have they will hurt us! Not just you, me Sansa, the wolves! Father! All of us! We are at their mercy."

"I am not! No one tells me what to do! I am Arya Stark of Win-"

"You are dead if you keep going you little fool!" cut Kyria.

"Kyria-" tried Sansa.

She wasn't even sure what she wanted to say. But the words died in her throat anyway, as her sister fall right back in her chair, trembling from head to toes. Her breath was quick and harsh. It took Sansa a moment to notice that it was wrong.

"Kyria?"

She didn't answer, her breath hard and even faster. Sansa confusingly looked at Arya, but the girl seemed determinate to look everywhere but to her sisters.

It took Kyria a long moment to catch back her breath. Sansa awkwardly stood close to her door, not knowing what to do with herself, or anything else. Her sister looked bad, distressed. She was pale and then red, and pale again. Her eyes were glassy and distressed. Sansa didn't know what to do. She would have liked to go comfort her sister, if not for the anger she still saw burning through her. She didn't want to be submitted to another of Kyria's reproachful lectures. She had had enough for one day.

"Arya..." finally said the oldest girl. Sansa held back a wince. She sounded so tired. Why would she sound like that? She wasn't supposed to sound like that.

"Arya," she said again, "how did you intend to escape?"

That was a good question. Sansa looked back, suddenly very eager to hear this peculiar conversation. A deep part inside her winced at the meaning behind her little sister's actions. She had wanted to escape. She was close to escaping. With the wolves. Without them. Sansa and Kyria. She wanted to go alone. To-

"You were leaving without us," said Sansa, something broke in her voice.

She wanted to abandon them. Why?

Arya flushed.

"Like either of you would have followed me!"

Kyria's eye twitched strangely. Sansa blinked. What?

"And why wouldn't we?"

"You were all eating in the Queen's hand like a freaking lapdog! You and Sansa!"

"Do-" she stopped herself, with a humph, and took a deep breath. Sansa's eyes stopped at the vein on her neck. It was pulsing strangely fast.

"Do you even listen when I talk?" she said finally.

It didn't take more for Arya.

"Shut up! You betrayed Father! You obey the Queen! At least I tried to do something! You just- You stay there like a stupid princess and wait for others to do the job for you! I won't! I wanted to escape and go to Robb so he could-"

"What?" growled Kyria. "So you a little girl all on her own would have somehow fled the city with three full-grown and very recognizable Direwolves and would have made all the road to the North on your own?! Without weapon or food or anything that could give you the tiniest chance of success? And you truly thought it was a good plan?!"

"I almost did it! I would have found the secret passages under the keep and-"

"AND YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN KILLED, YOU, STUPID CHILD!"

Kyria didn't wait for them to react to her last outburst. She stood, looking defeated and still incredibly furious. Sansa was still wondering how she could even manage such an expression when she talked one last time.

"Whatever. I'm tired of talking to the wind with the two of you. Get yourself killed for all I care."

And she left.

After that, Sansa stayed in the room. She couldn't say for how long. Her mind tried to grip something. Anything to make her understand what happened. All of it. All of this awful day. But nothing came.

She blinked slowly, listening to the sound of her breath, of Arya's on the other side of the room. Her eyes stayed on the floor for a long time. She sat at some point.

The silence around them was loud. Agonizing. Lonely. She desperately wanted the door to open. To Septa Mordane's kind face, or Jory's smile, or Father's tall silhouette. Anyone. Anything, that could prove that everything was just a nightmare.

But no one came.

The night fell and no one came. Only silence.

She looked at Arya then. Her little sister. She didn't look angry anymore. She was looking at the window, her little face twisted into something sad and stubborn and painful to watch. She thought about earlier. Arya's anger. Kyria's anger. Everything.

"You wanted to abandon us," she said, her voice strange in her ears.

Arya blinked a couple of times.

"What?"

"You took the wolves, our wolves and you tried to leave us behind," she said again.

She couldn't say where she wanted to go with this. If she wanted to be angry too, or sad, or disappointed. She couldn't say which one was the right one. A mix of all of them maybe.

But she needed to voice it.

"You wouldn't have wanted to leave your beloved Prince anyway." snorted Arya, and there was something here, in the line of her brow, the expression of her face, that Sansa had almost forgotten.

Something she had thought belonged to their past quarrels. Apparently, it was not the case…

"It doesn't matter. You wanted to leave us behind," she said again. Something inside her didn't want to let go of this point.

"I would have come back! I wanted to get help!"

"Would you have? It could have been your great adventure. You could have lived like you always wanted to live." she said. Something clicked in her mind. Because this, right now, this was important. She needed to say that.

"You say that Kyria had betrayed Father, but you would have betrayed us to live your adventure." she accused softly.

She wasn't even angry. She couldn't be. Too much happened today. But, as she stood and found the door of the room she had chosen for herself, she felt like something had broke in this room. Between her and Arya, or Kyria and Arya, or the three of them. Whatever. But she could almost hear it. The high pitched sound of something breaking on the floor. Leaving pieces all around for them to clean and pull back again.

She was not sure she wanted to.

Whatever. She was tired.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo** - **GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

They kept them locked in these apartments for three days. They would bring them food three times a day, always with one of the blond handmaidens that the Queen had assigned them to the first time they came into the Tower of the Hand. Sansa had been happy to see Jenny at first. But the girl hadn't talked to her. She had smile strangely and had looked at her like she never even talked to her before. When Sansa had tried to talk, Sara, Kyria's old handmaiden had said they had been forbidden to talk to the traitor's daughters.

There had been giggles in the corridor after they left.

Sansa had cried.

It was so unfair!

Arya had learned the hard way that they couldn't leave. She tried to sneak by the windows, but they had them high enough in the towers for it to be a very dangerous idea even for the adventurous little girl. She had tried to sneak by the main door while the guard was not looking. It didn't work either. The hound grabs her again, and threw her right back in Sansa's arms, fuming and kicking like an angry kitten. Sansa hadn't even dared say anything. The man scared her too much.

They couldn't leave. And Sansa didn't know what to do now.

She thought of going to Kyria, but Kyria started to scare her too. She hadn't talked much since the first time they locked them in these apartments. She sat in the far corner of the parlor, close to the window, and she watched outside. For a better part of the day.

She had nightmares too. Again. Sansa could hear her screaming in the night. It was frightening. She would have wanted to go to her, to ask for advices, reassurance, anything. But the look in her eyes dissuaded her. She looked empty. Sad, closed up. Like she gave up.

On the morning of the third day, Sansa woke up with a new determination. Sadness and confusion had been pushed away in her mind. Far enough so she could finally act and express the only emotion she had to keep to herself since the beginning of all this.

Kyria often said that they should never start a conversation when they were angry. But right now anger was the last thing Sansa could use. The only thing she had powerful enough to erase her fears. For a time at least.

With a strong set on her jaw, Sansa crossed the distance between her and Kyria, who kept sulking on a corner.

She sat firmly in front of her, her hands displayed on her pretty blue dress.

"So. What do we do now?" she asked firmly.

Kyria blinked.

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"What are we supposed to do now? With Father, our situation, everything!"

Kyria snorted.

"And why should we do anything? We are screwed, Sansa. Whatever game I tried to play with those people, I lost. What else do you want to do?"

Sansa rolled her eyes. Good gods…

"Not everything is about you Kyria," she said a bit exasperated.

When has she started to talk like that? How could Sansa miss something like that? It was the very same thing she was trying to chase away from her thought. With less success than what she hoped to be frank.

Kyria frowned.

"It's not about me. It's about all of us," she said back.

"If it's not about you why do you make it about you?" groaned Sansa. "We are all in the same mess. We can't even go out of this place. And instead of thinking of a way to solve this mess, you stay there all day sulking in a corner like the entire world just dropped on your shoulders."

"What would you want me to do Sansa?" sighed the girl. "You said it yourself, we are stuck in there, for the gods know how long. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to help me find a way to solve this mess!" pleaded Sansa. "There must be something we could do! For Father at least if not for us! One of the guards said he had been thrown in the black cells Kyria. The black cells!"

"I know." she sighed.

"There must be something we can do!"

Kyria rubbed her neck, her eyes in one of the seat next to Sansa. She looked at her then, blue meeting blue.

Sansa flushed when her sister kept looking at her face. She seemed pensive.

"What?" she groaned, uneasy.

"Nothing… you- What would you want to do?"

Sansa bite her lip, absentmindedly playing with her necklace.

"I thought I could try- I mean I- I'm still the King's betrothed. And he- He said I would be his lady, now and forever."

Kyria's face didn't move, but something shifted in her eyes.

"You want to try to plead for Father in front of our new King."

Sansa nodded.

"I know-" she started before Kyria could talk again. "I know what you think of him. But I thought- I wouldn't hurt to try, at least?"

Kyria closed her eyes.

"We don't have much more to lose at trying it's true."

"Do you agree?" pressed Sansa. "you would let me do it?"

"I can't let you do anything Sansa." smiled Kyria. "It's your decisions. If you think this is a good idea, then you have to try."

Sansa smiled brightly.

"Thank you Kyria."

She stood up before her sister could answer, hope blooming in her chest. Maybe things could turn in their advantage after all!

Two days later, the Queen finally allowed them to go out of their room. They still couldn't see the wolves and were escorted everywhere by half a dozen guards intimidating and desperately quiet, but they could go out.

Sansa was the one who explained her idea to Arya. The little girl was not pleased with it, but she seemed to have cooled up since their fall out on the first day. She was oddly silent.

The three of them arrived in the Throne room, as a united front. For the day, they had to be irreproachable. So Sansa had spent a thoughtful evening sewing their dresses especially for the occasion. Kyria wore a pastel blue Southern dress, similar to how Sansa made hers, without the large corset-like bodice she had taken a likeness to, or even her white shirt with long sleeves. This dress was attached to one side and embroidered with blue flowers, darker than the main fabric of the dress.

Arya's dress was more simple, Sansa was not foolish enough to waste embroider on her little sister. She knew the girl hated it. Still, she made the effort of sewing a small direwolf on her right shoulder, discreet enough so she wouldn't complain. The dress was southern too, in a light grey, for their house. She found this particular shade had the magical power of making her look more innocent.

As for Sansa herself, she put out her latest dress, a pale pink that made her look like a doll. She had sewed a pretty little dragonfly on one shoulder, with little flowers cascading on her arms and back.

They looked as perfect as they could be in their situation.

The sight of the poor man singing by the throne feet made Sansa want to run back at their room. For the first time since she met him, she felt scared of Joffrey. The way he happily asked for the man which appendices were more important to him made her skin crawl. It was awful. How could someone enjoy something like that?!

But then, Joffrey had asked if anyone else had something to say to him, and Sansa had known it was her moment.

She took a deep breath and painted her more innocent expression on her face. The word pronounced the day of Father's arrest was still fresh in her mind. Children were innocent of their Father's sins. She had to stay innocent. As much as she could.

She bowed and kneel in front of the throne, and put on her best show. Joffrey's gaze was heavy on her. It made her shiver. It had nothing to compare with the shiver this face used to conjure in her. She refused to be scared of her future husband, but she couldn't say she was at ease in front of him. Not after the sight of Ser Ilyn pulling out the man's tongue in front of an entire crowd of people, who didn't even try to help.

"Your words touched me, my lady," he said finally, and Sansa could have sobbed. "But you are not the only child of the traitor Lord Stark present here." he kept on, speaking louder. "What are your sisters thought on the matter? Lady Kyria! Mother told me a very interesting tale about you recently."

Sansa's heart squeezed in her chest. She didn't dare look back, but she heard the movements of the guards and Kyria's skirt softly brushing the floor. Then, in a display of blue, her big sister kneeled next to Sansa, her head low. Her braid brushing Sansa's shoulder as it fell with her sister's head.

"I share my sister's feeling regarding my Father your grace."

"Do you? You said he betrayed you."

"He did your grace. He didby not taking us into consideration when he tried to do what he did." Kyria answered. "It does not make him less our Father, however. And while we agree he deserves punishment for his foolishness, none of us want to see him dead."

It was impressive, how many words could flow out of Kyria's mouth while she wasn't saying much at all. No more than what Sansa herself said a minute before.

Joffrey smiled.

"Very well then. I can swear to you my ladies, that your Traitorous Father will receive the mercy he deserves for his crimes against me."Sansa smiled, relieved. "IF he bows in front of me and confesses his crimes in front of the Seven and the Kingdom."

Sansa's heart beat hard in her chest.

"He will your grace!" she nodded.

He had too!

She stood up, hands shaking with emotion, and followed Kyria, as the oldest girl slowly walked back out of the room. They joined Arya, who didn't stay too far from them. She looked even smaller surrounded by guards. She looked closed up like she did every time Sansa was looking at her since Father's arrest.

She waited for them to be back in their room before voicing her opinion.

"Why did you even made me wear this stuff? I stayed on the back!" she complained once the door closed.

"King Joffrey could have called you too, Arya! We needed to have every chance on our side if we wanted to succeed."

"Did we?"

Sansa blinked.

"What do you mean Kyria?"

Kyria hummed between her teeth, her face morphed in a worried expression.

"I wonder… Did we truly succeed?"

"Of course, you heard him! King Joffrey swore he would do everything in his power to release Father!"

"That's not what he said!" protested Arya.

Sansa was about to roll her eyes, semantics didn't matter after all, but Kyria's frown stopped her.

"I'm not sure if we truly succeed Sansa."

"What? Why?"

"He said Father would receive the mercy he deserves."

"Yes, I know!"

"But what mercy does he deserve?" asked Kyria, to no one in particular.

Sansa blinked. She hadn't thought about it, but it was true that the King had not been precise.

No, surely he would be merciful like she knew he could. He has to be.

It couldn't be otherwise. They had played their last card, Sansa knew that. There wasn't much they could do now. All that was left to do was wait.

Wait and hope.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..Have we lost anyone? No sudden murder tendencies? Sure?
> 
> So! Arya, Arya, Arya... You were all cute thinking I would let her go that easily! Besides, I'm not sure if that was very clear, but even if she'd had escaped, she would have been on her own. And by that I mean without Yoren and Gendry and everyone! Because I'm a bitch and I messed up the timeline so the guy would be there earlier (read, during the tourney)and consequently, leave earlier too!
> 
> So she couldn't have hid with them.
> 
> Sorry if it wasn't clear.
> 
> As for the wolves, some of you might wonder why Cersei had not killed them yet. Well I still have plan for them! Let's say that Cersei is a sadistic bitch and she would rather use them to hurt the girls rather than just kill them in a dark corner.
> 
> Anyway, what do you think of all that? Share your opinion my little friends! Don't be shy!
> 
> Again thank you all for liking what I do and following my work, I appreciate it very much! I hope to see you soon!
> 
> Bubyyye!


	18. Chapter 18: Something about the North's good memory...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Hi?
> 
> I'm so so SO sorry about the delay! I know it's being a very VERY long time and I know you must all hate me by now! Hell, you'll probably hate me even more by the end of this chapter!
> 
> But something horrible happened to me guys! My computer broke! It crashed down! Just like that! And as I am a very smart person I didn't save any of my works on any flash drive or something like that. So I lost everything! All the preparations I had for every story I wrote this past year! Including this chapter! I was so angry I can't even start to tell you how angry I was! At myself mostly, but damn!
> 
> So to be quick, I had to write back everything, the plans for the end of this story, the ones for the other books that'll follow -to be frank, I barely started this part...- and of course, this chapter...I wasn't really satisfied with it the first time I wrote it, and I still don't like this new version. I am far more interested int he next one xD. But I had to write this. I couldn't just skip it and be done with it...
> 
> So, for those who guessed what is about to happen, Just wait a couple of more weeks ^^' I tried to write as quickly as I could, but I still need to edit it and erase as many mistakes as possible ^^'
> 
> Anyway, I'm very sorry again to keep you waiting all this time. I'll try not to do that again promise!  
> Thank you all for taking the time to read my story and to like it! I hope this chapter I had not disappointed you.

**Chapter 18: Something about the North's good memory...**

**Year 298 after the Conquest, Ninth Month.**

**Winterfell**

**Robb**

Robb Stark was exhausted.

It would do him no good to deny it. He would gladly shout it loud and clear to anyone who dared ask him how he felt.

Exhausted.

To think there was one time, an eternity ago when he yearned for the time when he would finally take his father's place as the Lord of Winterfell Warden of the North. What a fool.

There was no glory in the position. No satisfaction either. Father once told them that being the Warden of the North was like being a Father for hundred and hundreds of people. He could never go to bed peacefully. He had to worry about every single one of them. All the time.

He used to find the idea silly. Well, now he wished he had paid more attention to his father's many lessons.

How could anyone find any kind of joy in such a tireless thankless job? Gods he could not wait for Father to finally come home.

Since he had left, with Sansa and Kyria and Arya, things had been from bad to worse and worse with glimpsed of good sprinkled here and there. Like tasty little fruits on top of a very ugly and disgusting cake.

Someone tried to kill Bran, bad. His mother thinks there is something else behind the boy's first accident. Bad. She decides to go investigate by herself. Or to go talk to Father he wasn't sure anymore. Bad. Bran woke up. Good. He won't ever be able to walk normally let alone run for the rest of his life. Bad. Tyrion Lannister shows up. Bad. He offers something to help Bran riding his horse. Good. Bran is attacked by Wildling in the Wolf woods right under his nose. Bad.

And it goes on and on and on. Every day was another succession of bad or worse. Sometimes good. Rarely good.

He could not wait for Father to finally come home. For the girls too. The news Kyria kept sending him was worrying him. She was not saying anything per se, but the tone of her letters… And with what happened to Lady. He did not want to know where those people were ready to go in the name of their twisted politics. The glimpse he had when they were here was enough to bother him greatly.

He could not help him. He did not like those people. Every single piece of him was screaming danger. Mistrust. Caution.

Maybe he was thinking too much. Too many things in his head?

He couldn't say. He was exhausted. He didn't want to think about all of this.

"You're quiet this morning little Lord." Rumbled Theon from the sit in front of him.

Robb shrugged; his mouth puffed with food. He wasn't really in a talking mood.

"What's the matter? Bored with your new responsibilities already?" continued the older man, his usual mocking smile on his face.

Robb's jaw twitched. Theon's smile grew. How did he do that? How could he always find the perfect way to push the right buttons to have the reaction he wanted from him? He was gifted with the art of annoying him to no end.

The worst part was that he loved him for it. Annoying squid.

"So, you are bored, aren't you?" he said. "Do not try to lie to me my friend I know that look."

"I'm not bored Theon."

"Oh, but you are Robb."

"Not at all."

"What, so now you don't want to talk with me anymore? What are you afraid of?"

"I am not afraid to talk to you."

"I certainly hope so!" he stopped for one second. Then started again, of course. "So what is it? If not bored."

"Nothing."

"No there's something. I know that face."

"I'm eating Theon. There is no face."

"And I am no Iron-born! Come one I see your face, Robb. You're grumpy."

"I have a lot of things in my mind."

"Oh pardon me, my Lord, how could I dare take so much of your precious time!"

Did he ever shut up?

"My Lord."

Thank the gods!

Saved by the Maester. Robb abruptly turned to oblige the old man.

"Maester Luwin, what is it?" he asked promptly.

The man looked pale. But then, maybe it was him? It was a bit early for a disaster.

Oh, who was he kidding...

"Ravens my Lord." He said. "From your sister."

"Ravens? What happened that could deserve more than one Raven?" asked Theon because of course, he was listening. Noisy man.

Maester Luwin didn't answer. He held the pieces of paper still rolled up with the familiar seal of the Stark shining on top of it. Daring him to open it quickly. Robb felt his stomach drop inside him. He had a very bad feeling about this...

As if summoned, Greywind brushed against his side, pushing his massive head in Robb's shoulder. Robb took a deep breath and allowed himself a minute to bath in the strength his faithful companion was giving him. His eyes closed, he could almost taste it, the savage bravery of the wolf. He could do this. This was just paper after all. besides, he wasn't the one with the mystic powers of sight.

He took the letters, and broke the seal on the first was short and immediately, Robb felt his face twitch. Something was wrong.

_Robb,_

_I write to you in great distress brother, for things, unfortunately, turned for the worst in Kingslanding. Father committed treason against Joffrey Baratheon and the Queen. He had been arrested. I do not know much, for ladies as ourselves are not allowed to pier in those conversations, but I am asked to invite you, my dear brother, to come here to the capital, and solve this situation personally so we can all go home, assured that justice is served and the wrong is made right again, between our family and the crown._

_I pray you to come as quickly as you can. You must choose wisely the path you will take brother. Be careful not to burn the bridges that could lead you to us brother. I hope for the best._

_Sincerely,_

_Your sister Kyria._

"My Lord?"

"Robb? Is everything alright?"

"Give me the other one." He said. His voice sounded odd. Like it was someone else talking.

"What is it?"

"Give me the Letter Maester."

The man finally obeyed, his face crumpled with worry. Robb couldn't make himself more composed. He needed to know everything she had to say. Barely breathing, he opened the second seal. This one was longer.

_Robb,_

_I do now know when you will be able to read this. I do not know if I ever will send it. I wrote to you to warn you brother. Things are going wrong here. It is worse every day._

_I was stupid to ever think I could do something alone in this place._

_You were right brother, I should have stayed with you. But it's too late now. I can't go back home, they won't let me. I tried everything I could think about to bring Father home. To protect Sansa and Arya as much as I could. But I am nothing to them and I have no power over anything. I fear the worst brother. Nothing I tried worked. Father didn't listen. I failed Robb. I failed and I am scared of how much I did._

_The only thing I have left to do now is to warn you. I don't know what else to do Robb._

_The King is dying as I speak. He may last a couple of days if we are lucky. But soon, Joffrey will be King._ _I'm afraid of what he'll do with a crown on his head. He is already instable as a prince. With the power that goes with the Iron Throne... it is a disaster waiting to happen. No one would be able to control him, not even his dear mother._

_With any hope, we'd have another Mad King. Or worse._

_If you revive this letter, things had turned for the worst. I don't think they'll let us go. Father is searching for something. I don't know what it is, but I know it is important and dangerous. If he discovers it and if the wrong people know, they'll never let him go easily. If it happens, Robb, I beg you, think carefully._

_Prepare for the worst brother._

_I think Sansa and Arya will be safe. They are young and the Queen likes to think she can manipulate young spirits into malleable dolls. I don't think the same thing can be said about me._

_Robb, if you receive this letter, remember our last conversation. You will be our last hope brother. Mine and the girls. Father too if we are lucky. But I know the Queen fear Father. Maybe she'll be smart enough to know that killing him would cost her the North._

_I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything lately. Prepare for the worst Robb. I won't be able to help you now._

_Always think before you act brother. Your actions will soon engage more than just yourself. You'll have to think of us too. Think and never, ever, forget why you move._

_You won't be alone. You are allowed to take advice from someone else. But be careful. If you lead an army, the consequences of your decisions will engage you before anyone else. You'll have to face them, and live with them for the rest of your life. Think of the long run. Always the long run. The bigger picture._

_A purpose is often the only thing that keeps an army going. Think carefully about your purpose. A wrong one could be our end._

_Beware your heart brother. It could doom us all. Beware the Red of ancient Kings who still lust for a throne. Beware the dark eyes of the weasel. He'll want more than you are willing to offer._

_Be smart. Be strong._

_Don't let them destroy us, Robb. Never let them destroy you._

_I love you. I miss you. I hope it'll be enough._

_Kyria._

For an agonizing moment, Robb's heart stopped. His brain tried to process everything behind Kyria's words. The implications. The consequences, of this very letter between his hands.

When it started again, the panic his him with the strength of a punch. Right on his face. Cutting his breath and every sound that could come out of his mouth. The worst. The worst had happened.

If Kyria took the risk to send such a thing, the worst had happened. The letter had been sealed when he had it. So no one read it before him. The Seven blessings for small mercies. His hands shacked under the pressure of everything hitting him at once. He needed to prepare. To send ravens to-

So many things to do. So many couldn't stay here. His father, his sisters. They had them. He had to do something. He couldn't let them hear.

It took a long time for his hands to be stable enough for him to put down the letter. The words were still floating inside his head. Her voice echoing in his hears.

Too many things at once. There were so many things to think about, to process. Decisions to make.

"My Lord?"

Robb didn't answer. He took back the first letter and read it again. And again. But the words didn't change.

"Maester Luwin." He said finally putting the shit of fragile paper back in the old man's hand.

The man read it silently, dutifully and Robb waited for him to voice his opinion.

"What is it?"

"The King is dead." He started hollowly.

"What? What happened?"

"I don't know."

Theon fell back on his sit, silently processing the meaning behind those simple words.

"What about- what about your Father? Your sisters? Are they going to come back here?"

"Lord Stark has been arrested." Answered Maester Luwin. "this letter is about it. Lady Kyria is asking Lord Robb to come to the capital to answer the King's summon and assure his loyalty to Joffrey."

Theon blinked.

"Kyria said that?"

"Well, from what I understand."

Anger was quick to arrive in Theon. Like it always did.

"How could she? Her father is arrested and she thinks you are going to run straight to the capital to kiss that prick's feet? Who does she think you are?!"

"I don't think Lady Kyria had much choice when she wrote this letter."

"What do you mean? She wrote it didn't she?"

"I think the Queen might have a hand in this letter. The tone is odd. Nothing like I ever saw Lady Kyria write."

Robb stood up suddenly and asked for the letter again. Something in all this wasn't right. He read it one more time, part of his brain looking for something, anything that could mean more than what it was.

It took him a moment. But eventually, he gets it.

Oh. Oh of course.

"She's asking me to come for them." He said slowly.

"That's what I said." Answered Theon sharply. "But I still don't get why she would do that. Sansa would have listened to the Queen easily but Kyria is supposed to be less interested in a crown on top of someone's head!"

"No, She's asking me to come for them."

"You've said that already-"

"No Theon, she's not asking me to come to kiss Joffrey's boots. She's asking me to come for them. The Lannister."

"She wants a war?" supposed Maester Luwin, his voice shaking barely on the last word.

Robb shook his head.

"She wants a rescue. She wants us to come for them and Father and put them out of here. Here, listen, ' _I am asked to invite you, my dear brother, to come here to the capital, and solve this situation personally so we can all go home, assured that justice I"s served and the wrong is made right again, between our family and the crown.'_ Justice, she said."

"It can be the King's justice." Said Maester Luwin.

"Or it can mean Justice for our family."

Theon blinked. Once, twice, and Robb could almost see the thought inside his head, slowly moving to process what Robb was implying.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go to Kingslanding. With every single Northman, we will be able to gather around us."

"Do I call the Banners my Lord."

"Do that." He said solemnly.

The man nodded one last time and slowly walked out of the room. Left alone with his friend, Robb slowly sat back, his eyes glued to his hands, pressed against his legs.

"That's… there is a lot of things to think of." Said Theon close to him. "Things are going to be difficult from now on."

"They will indeed."

Silence. Robb couldn't look away from his hands. What was happening?

His mind swirled and twirled in the thousands of thought filling his head without sense or purpose. Ideas, plans, solutions. Anything.

He felt himself spiraling out of control, panicking and gasping like his lungs were filled with water.

Greywind pressed his large nose against his back, and suddenly, he could breathe again. He grabbed his massive neck and took a deep gulp of air bathing briefly in the feeling of the thick fur under his fingers.

"How do you feel?" asked Theon and couldn't he shut up? Just one minute?! "Are you afraid?"

He didn't want to answer. He wanted to snap at him and go hide somewhere far away from everything else.

But he couldn't do that. He had responsibilities, things to do. He just accepted another one he couldn't hide now.

He had no right to do so. Admit he was afraid, saying the words were the worse idea he could have. So he didn't say it. Instead, he showed his shaking hands to his friend, who cracked a smile.

"Good." He said proudly.

"How is it good?" asked Robb.

"It means you're not stupid."

Robb didn't know what to say to that. He pressed his hand in Greywind's fur and the wolf nudged him again.

Outside, the raven started flying furiously for the North's bannermen. He was scared. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing…

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Everything went very quickly from there.

The first men arrived a couple of days later. Raging loudly and very passionately about those southern Lords who dared attack the North and the Stark.

The anger in the air could be tasted in the air, around those aging lords slowly burning with a fury some would have expected to see in young green boys eager to see their first battle.

Robb tried to ignore the fear always present in the back of his mind, but the pressure of the responsibilities behind the leadership of a war, of a quest like that, was almost too much for his already tired mind. He didn't complain, however. He couldn't afford it. Nothing would have changed the situation now and even if it did, what else could he have done?

Stayed safely inside his keep while the rest of his kingdom went to fight for his Father and their honor?

He couldn't do that. It wasn't even thinkable. This was about his father, his sisters, his family. He couldn't let others do what was his duty. So he kept his mouth shut and took the lead of their growing army.

Not everyone was eager to listen to a green boy like him. But Robb was quickly becoming very good in the art to fake confidence until it came to him. The many lessons he had since the early years of his life were fussing in his mind.

He needed to make them believe he knew what he was doing. He needed to know what he was doing, to believe in it.

The long letter his sister had send him was always with him. It was a mockery of what Kyria could have been, had she stayed home with him. But it was enough for now. It had to be.

They left Winterfell one small week after his call. They couldn't afford to lose more time waiting for everyone to come. The situation asked for a quick move and an even quicker campaign. He felt his heart squeeze at the idea that he was leaving his two little brothers behind. Both of them were in good hands with Maester Luwin watching over them. But Bran was still recovering for his wounds, and Rickon had already seen too many people leaving him. He didn't want to be another one.

But he had no choice. At least his mother would come home soon. She had no reason to stay South. Even less with him marching for war and Father locked up in Kingslanding's cells.

"Why do you have to leave Robb?!" wept little Rickon the night before his leave.

"I have to save Father, and our sisters, you know that Rickon."

"Why does everyone leave?! All the time! Everyone leaves me!"

The cries were heartbreaking and Robb hated himself for doing that to his little brother. But he had no other choice. What else could he do?

"I'll come back. I promise. And I'll send you Mother if I find her on the road."

"You won't!"

He cried himself to sleep that night. Promising Bran he would send their mother didn't help much. The boy was growing angrier by each day at the woman since he woke up without her. He felt unimportant.

"We will come back, Bran." He said again the night of their departure.

The boy blinked painfully, his bad leg wrapped in wet clothes, and melted slowly like the Maester often did to ease his pain.

"Will you?"

"I promise you, Bran, I'll do everything I can to bring us all home again."

He had nodded. A harness in his eyes that had no place in a face so young. Robb had felt bad for hours after that conversation. He still felt bad sometimes, when he thought about it too much at night.

They walked quickly while they were still far North. He knew not to take this for granted. Once on the other side of the Neck, things were going to be way harder. The couple of men he had to send South as scouts had reported movements and activity from the Lannister Army. Already, he had heard of the Siege of Riverrun, and the damages of the Mountain in the Riverlands. Things were bad.

He knew he would not be able to pass so easily through the Lannister defenses. Jaime Lannister was a seasoned soldier and that was nothing compared to the old lion himself. Unfortunately being so far North had the disadvantage of stopping most of the news from reaching them.

He knew Tywin Lannister was on the move. He knew Jaime Lannister with half of his Father's army on tow ha terrorized the Riverlands before his siege. But that was all he knew.

As they reached closer and closer from the Neck, Robb felt the pressure of a decision pushed on his shoulders. He had to find something.

He was aware of his capacities and limitations, so that morning he had decided to aboard the subject in a war council. With every Lord present around the table, finally, Robb felt like he could go somewhere.

He felt painfully young surrounded by those men. But he couldn't show it. Theon's eyes from one end of the table were heavy on his side, studying every twitch of his face, the contraction of his jaw, the pressure between his eyes. But he couldn't look at him. He had to stay focused.

It was in this state, in the middle of a council, talking about battles and strategies, that came the person he had wished to find on the road since the day he left home.

"Mother!"

The men stood around him, all at once, and bowed to their Lord's wife. The woman smiled tightly, her eyes not leaving Robbs.

"Pardon me, My Lords, would you mind leaving a mother with her son a moment?" she asked softly.

"But, of course, my Lady." Bowed the GreatJon a wide smile on his face.

They all were very quick to leave the room, mumbling welcomes and apologies to the lady with rumbling voices and ruffing noises.

Robb waited anxiously for them all to leave them. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, the tent closed itself behind the last Lord, Lady Catelyn threw herself right into Robb's arms.

Robb closed his arms tightly around her, bathing in the sent of his mother, the softness of her hair against his cheek. Gods he missed her. He was so glad to see her. he hadn't realized how much. She pressed herself against his chest, her hand petting the back of his head gently like she used to do when he was little.

"My boy…" she said. "My grown-up little boy…"

Robb stiffed against her. He blinked. Suddenly, the magic of their reunion was gone. Everything he had thought about his mother, about the situation and the consequences of her decisions slapped him right on the face.

He took a step back and tried to control the muscled of his face, schooling his expression into something calm and welcoming. As much as he could given the circumstances.

"I didn't expect you on the road when I last saw you." She said with a tired smile. "Leading an army… Ready to fight a war… I would lie if I said I wanted that for you."

The occasion couldn't have been more tempting. Everything in his wanted to confront his mother for what she did. For the consequences. But he kept his mouth shut. He smiled tightly and pressed her hands.

"Mother... we have a lot to talk about," he said slowly.

How to begin this discussion?

"Of course we have. Leading a war is no game, you'll need all the council you might find. I'll help you in any way I can you know that." she said tenderly.

That made him twitch.

"I am not sure I want that help, Mother."

"What does it mean?" she said, losing all trace of happiness.

He sighed.

"You know what I mean."

"No I don't think I do," she said coolly. "Speak your mind son."

"You can not be ignorant of your actions and the consequences they had, Mother."

"Robb-"

"And for what? What convinced you to take Tyrion Lannister, the second son of the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, into custody? What were your reasons?"

"My reasons? Robb how can you! You know why I did that! I have in good intelligence it was this man who is responsible for what happened to Bran! Twice had he tried to kill my little boy. And you think I would have let him leave freely?!"

"Two attempts? So what now he pushed Bran from the wall too?" said Robb with barely restrained sarcasm.

"Oh don't be absurd of course not! But he did light the fire that made him fall," she said harshly. "I do not know what poor Bran might have witnessed in this damned tower for the Lannister to want his death, but it has to be something!"

"Mother he didn't witness anything! Have you lost your mind? He didn't even reach the window? What could he had witnessed?"

"I- I don't claim to know what happened in their heads. I just know that he did it."

Robb sighed and stood, passing nervously around the table.

"Mother, do you even stopped to think about all of this?" he said, praying for his mother to just admit maybe she had not all the information. "Who told you this?"

"Petyr did Robb, and I have every reason to trust his word on the subject."

"Baelish? So you what- you went to Baelish and he told you Tyrion Lannister had paid a man to kill the son of the Lord Paramount of the North in his home, in his bed with a Valeryan steel blade? The very same type of blade his father lust for almost since he became Lord of the Westerlands? One of the most recognizable blades in the entire kingdoms!"

She opened her mouth, but Robb didn't let her talk.

"Tell me it is not true. I dare you, Mother, tell me I'm wrong."

"I do not wish to discuss this with you, Robb. What is done is done."

"Aye, what is done, is done, mother. Father almost lost his leg to Jaime Lannister and lost his occasion to leave this blasted city. Had you not made your move, they would be home by now."

She sighed and stood too. Her back turned on him, she took a deep breath and lowered her head.

Robb didn't join her. He stayed back, one hand on the table to hold himself in check. It was astonishing, truly to see his mother, usually so clever and wise, make such a mistake. A part of him understood the need to know, to have answers. He yearned for it too. But there was a big difference between searching answers and acting on the words of one man, not even remotely trustworthy. He couldn't understand how couldn't she see the depth of the mistakes she kept making.

"Robb... nothing can change what already happened, no matter whose fault it was," she said slowly. " We can't lose ourselves on quarrels and distrust. You will fight a war against the Old Lion himself. You can't act restlessly Robb."

"I know," he said.

Catelyn moved her head. Her gaze didn't meet his, but Robb caught a glimpse of her expression. The tension on her face gripped Robb's heart. He felt bad. He shouldn't have attacked her like that. Not when he just found her again. No matter their differences of opinions. She was still his Mother and he had missed her. He had wished for her to come back for days now.

They stayed silent for a moment longer, then finally, Robb spoke again.

"What will you do now?"

"What do you mean?" she sighed, still tensed.

"I promised Bran and Rickon I would send you back to them if I found you on the road. You should go home, to them. They are waiting for you, you know."

"What? Do you want to send me back? While you are fighting for my home country? How could I abandon you like that?"

"Mother-"

"Besides, my girls are locked up just as much as their Father, what kind of mother would I be if I abandon them like that?"

"Mother, I will take care of this. You should go be a mother for those who need you. The ones you can help right now."

"You need my help too, Robb," she said, distressed by the discussion. She grabbed one of his hands, and pressed it, " you are so young still. No matter how brave you are, you'll need advice from someone you trust."

It was a good point. The only problem was that, no matter how painful it was to admit if only to himself, he wasn't sure to trust his mother. Not with this kind of thing at least. She had already shown how bad could be her decisions in a situation as such.

"I have plenty of people able to advise me who are already traveling with me, Mother." He said calmly. "Bran and Rickon need you more."

"They are safe at home, you are not."

"You won't be able to protect me in the battlefield mother."

"This is not the point Robb."

"Yes, it is Mother. Your younger sons need you more than me right now. I need you to go to them."

"I won't leave you in the middle of a war Robb. I won't be moved in this."

"Mother-"

"Besides, I refuse to let my Brother and Father assaulted by those Lannister's scum!"

Robb argued with her for almost like an hour, but she refused to listen. While he was still trying to talk her through his point of view, she started advising him on the best way of dealing with the old Lion. In the end, Robb gave up. His mother was stubborn, and he hadn't the heart to tell her no. Not any more than he already had at was tired of fighting with her.

He knew it was hard to change her mind when she was decided. It was a trait she had given most of their children. Him included. But for now, he would let her do as she pleased. He could understand her worries for her family. He shared it.

He just needed to find a way to show her uselessness by his side, so that she could finally do as he said, and go home. Putting it in a way that would sound like her idea instead of his.

If it worked, he could thank the gods for Kyria and her obsession with books. And manipulation.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It took them a couple of more days to arrive at the Twins. Once close enough to watch without being watched, they start planning. The couple of scouts they had sent had brought back the news Robb was expecting. Tywin Lannister and his twenty thousand men were waiting for them. As were the other Lannister Lion with the other part of his army, farther by the Riverlands.

Robb was truly glad for his last order to Ser Rodrick, before leaving Moat Cailin. They were going to need anything they could get. The Riverlords, even free, couldn't save them the trouble of an army smaller than the other ones. He knew he couldn't think of everything, but the fact was that as big as his army was right now if this war grew longer, -the gods forbid it- he would need other men, to replace the wounded and the fallen.

He hated those thoughts. He shouldn't bother with this now. But he couldn't not think about it. Not while he was planning his strategy against Jaime Lannister and certainly not with the few ideas he already had. All of them including great loss and sacrifices.

So many things. So many possibilities.

He couldn't think about this now. He needed to concentrate on the present time.

With the Lannister preventing any other option, they had to cross the Twins. They stayed around for a couple of days, watching every single Raven coming out of the keep. Trying to know if the old Frey had ratted them to Lannister. He hadn't.

Now they needed to know what to do.

So here he was, in his tent, who also served as a war room, surrounded by his lords, planning the best way to force the old man to let them go without telling on them like a little boy.

"We should burn this place to the ground! Problem solved!" boomed the Greadjon slapping his large hand against the table.

"We have to move fast Lord Umber, we can not afford to lose a week in a siege against the Frey when other solutions are possible." Said softly Lord Bolton, from his corner of the table.

"That's rich coming from you Bolton!"

"What do you mean?"

"Please my Lords, now is not the time for your quarrels." Said a third Lord.

Robb didn't bother looking who it was. His mind was rolling fast, thinking. He may have to go himself, talk to Frey. He knew it was his responsibility. But it was also a risk. Nothing prevented the guy to sell him right to the Lannisters. He had learned along the road, that the man had a connection with the Lannister Family. One of his sons. Robb hadn't bothered with the details, this lone piece of information had been enough to know what it meant.

Frey needed to be won on their side. The other alternative would lower his chances of winning, and he couldn't afford to lose. So they needed Frey to let them go through his home. Preferable to give them some of his men. It was known the man had very little loyalty for his Liege Lord. But Robb hoped he had enough for him to play it.

Hu. Wasn't it strange to think like that? His eyes fell on the wooden figures on the large table, all posted around the map. It felt like a board game.

Only, more real. And Bloody. And dangerous. But still, a board game.

"I will go talk to Walder Frey."

All the voices shut down at the same time. It was almost magic, the way they all just stopped in one single motion. Even Robb's thought stopped.

His mother slowly made her way inside the tent, her back straight and strong. From her being pulsed an aura of steadiness, of determination. Something Robb only witnessed one time. Back when Father had left them to fight the Greyjoy's Rebellion. The steel of a woman in charge of an entire keep.

It was impressive. It would have pleased Robb to see this, had she not tried to do his duty.

"Lady Stark-"

"I have known Lord Frey since I was a girl. If someone here is qualified to talk to him, it is me, my lords." She continued as if no one had even tried to interrupt her.

"My Lady this is not a good idea, Lord Walder is not known for his loyalty. To anyone or anything except himself."

"I know how to talk to him, Lord Glover." She said, full of assurance.

"Even if you did my Lady it's been years since the last time you-"

"I think this is a task for someone who was born in those lands my Lord."

Robb didn't wait for the conversation to end. Frowning, he stood abruptly, gathering the attention back to him.

"I have decided." He said with assurance.

Worried glances found him almost immediately. Several of the lords stood with outrage, ready to protest and be indignant at anything he might have to say.

" I will go talk to Lord Walder."

"My lord-"

"Robb!"

"Have you lost your mind?!"

"Robb you can't risk it!"

He held a hand, stopping all the protestations around him. He waited for them to compose themselves before he talked again.

"It is me who lead this army. I decide to call the banners." He said. "I can not in good conscience let someone else negotiate such an important place in our campaign."

"Lord Stark, with all respect, you are the leader of this army, we can not risk you falling in the hands of the Lannister."

"The situation would be the same if it were my Mother going to see the man. I will not let a man like Walder Frey think I cannot fight my own battles. That I need my Mother to fight for me."

"Robb this is not about that-"

"But it could be Mother." He paused, "I appreciate your support, but I cannot let you fight for me."

Even though he didn't say it, he felt the words pulse inside his head. This was not her place to do that. Not anymore. She couldn't treat him like a child while he was in his way to fight the entire Lannister army for their family.

"I have decided," he said finally.

No one argued much. There was something shiny in the back of some of those Lord's eyes. Robb wanted to call it respect. He knew it was judgment. They were judging him, his resolve. He was strangely fine with that. He knew what he looked like, with his mother in the war tent. A Green boy.

He also knew he couldn't afford this kind of thought. And he couldn't afford to win respect on the battlefield only. He wasn't planning to be a general. He needed to be a Leader.

_Generals win battles. Leaders win wars._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Lord Stark! What do you want?"

Robb counted to five in his head, taking the time to study the old man in front of him.

And was he old.The chair he sat in seemed to be the only thing holding him together. He was all long limbs and fragile bones, his face hollowed and haunted by years and years of life. His eyes, small and black on his face were holding all the life of his body, clear and quick. Studying him with sharpness one would have expected on a man twice younger. If not more.

Nothing about Walder Frey looked impressive. He was almost pathetic, the old man whose hand was gripping his young bride's arm, like a bird his prey. He reminded Robb of those creatures he read about. The one leaving in the warm desert of Dorne. Vultures. He had the same bald head, spotted with age and a patch of hair there and here. The same nakedness about his face and neck. Like the hair had deserted it so he could easily plunge his head neck-deep inside his prey's flesh, to find all the good pieces and feast on it.

The girl next to him was petite and pretty, in some way. Robb supposed she might have looked prettier had she not seemed frightened to be standing here, so close to that man. Or maybe it was the room. Dark and heavy with looks and breath from all the sons around. Some of them watching her with hunger, other with disdain.

Most of them with both.

"Lord Frey, It is an honor to meet you." He said finally, opting for the most polite approach.

No need to stark aggressively in the first sentence. He needed patience. Gods he could have given everything for Kyria to be here right now.

The man made an odd sound from the back of his throat. It sounded like a cough.

"Spare me, boy. I have no use for your politeness. What do you want?"

He sounded as pleasing as he looked.

"F-Father you forget yourself L-"

"Who's talking to you? You're not Lord Frey yet, not until I die, boy, do I look dead to you?"

Robb controlled his face not to react. His eyes followed Frey. Looking away would be seen as a weakness. He couldn't appear weak.

Around him, his men twitched, uneased.

"I ask again boy, What do you want?" grumbled the old man.

Alright then…

"Courtesy for once my Lord. I am not your boy, nor will I ever be."

The man snorted.

"Aren't you a boy? You certainly are no Lord, you're Father is still alive!" Robb felt his jaw twitch. "that said, he may not stay that way for much longer from what I've heard."

Again, Robb counted.

"Why should I respect some green boy like you huh?"

"I respect you." He answered slowly. "I am Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North while my Father is away. I am not your boy. I will appreciate you not calling me that way again. My Lord."

"Respect? Ha! None of you noble blood fools ever respected a Frey! Don't you know that boy? Do you think I don't? I'm no fool! I know! All those Lords, spitting on my Family for centuries now. Why would I bother kissing the ass of a green little Lordling who thinks himself better than me?"

"Because I do not care what others think of you, Lord Frey." Said Robb with his strongest voice.

"Father maybe we should-"

"You should nothing boy! This is not your place to talk. Learn to shut your mouth!"

Robb waited for the man to sit back in his very ugly chair before speaking again.

"If courtesy is not what you want then I will be blunt. You know very well what I want my Lord, I want the right to pass through your bridge, and travel safely to your Lands."

"And why would I allow that?"

"Many reasons." Said Robb with a bravado he was not sure to feel.

The man huffed but Robb didn't let it concern him.

"For once, you swore a vow to my grandfather. A vow you should very well try to fulfill now that he requires your assistance."

Another snort.

"And why would I bother with this old fool? He didn't bother with me. He didn't bother with me. He didn't come to my Wedding."

"My Grandfather is quite ill my Lord. I am not surprised he couldn't afford the trip."

"He didn't come for the last one either. Not that I'm surprised, the Frey was never enough for a Tully aren't they boy?"

"I do not know the reasons behind my grandfather's decision, but I know there must be one;"

"I don't care for reasons! Why would I need them? What I do need is fewer sons and daughters to feed! Look at them!" he said, throwing an arm around to show his many offspring all quietly sitting around the place.

Robb could hear them move and whisper, the discomfort tasting heavily in the air.

" Tully never allowed his blood to mix with mine. You think I don't know how they call me around there? The Late Frey. They love to laugh, don't they! They feel better than me, all of them."

"My Lord."

"Why would I do anything for any of them when they never bother treating me with anything else than contempt?"

Robb breathed.

"I assure you, My Lord, I do not care for anything else than my observations. From what I understand your anger is justified. I do not want to add my name to the list of the numerous people who wronged you. I do need something from you and I am ready to negotiate it, if necessary."

It tasted sour in his mouth. To praise the man like that. He felt wrong to do so. But he knew it was the good way of talking to him. He wouldn't like a threat. But praises…

Gods, Robb felt like a master petting his dog. Like he felt the first month when they start training the wolves. Praises to soften the beast, just enough for it to learn the trick.

The mechanics were not the same with a human being, but close enough for Frey to change the way he looked at him. He seemed more curious than angry now. A strange look on such a face.

"Negotiate? Really? Very well. Let's hear what you have to say."

"You are very well aware we need to cross your bridge to join the Riverlands and my grandfather's keep. I am ready to negotiate this passage with you my Lord but make no mistakes, we will cross this bridge."

"Oh really? And how do you intend to do that?"

"By force in last resort." He said naturally. "Of course I wouldn't dare attack you without a good reason and I am aware you might want payment for our safe travel. But make no mistakes my Lord, I will cross your bridge. The way depends on you."

"I see. And why should I let you pass my keep? Do not take me for a fool boy. I know why you want to go to South. Helping you would mean commit treason."

"To the King maybe. Not your Lord."

"Why would I care about this old fool?" he snorted.

"He did not give you many reasons for sure. But helping your liege Lord would only help your reputation. No one could say you do not know loyalty if you show loyalty."

"I do not care about that. What I want is sons and daughters married. But then… maybe we could find an arrangement"

"Of what kind?"

Somehow, he knew the answer.

"I have many daughters. You are not married."

"I see…"

"I could be persuaded to assist you with some of my men if you would take one of them as your squire. Olivar for example."

"I see no problem with this arrangement."

"You have siblings, don't you? One of your sisters will-"

"I will stop you right there my lord. I can not promise you this." He said immediately, one hand in front of him.

"What does that mean? I will not let you run for free with my men you stupid boy!"

"Oh, I am confident you won't. And I see no problem with agreeing your two other conditions my Lord. However, as much as I am Lord with my Father away, I am not my Father. While he is still alive I can not in good conscience promise you something like that. I do not know my Fathers plans for my sisters." He took a deep breath, something painful in his chest as he prepared himself for his next words. "I can promise you my hand for one of your daughters, for this promise is mine only to make. But I can not do the same for my sisters."

This was a lie. He could make such a promise. But promising his hand was one thing. To condemn his sisters to such a fate was something else. He would not allow that.

"What trouble could this cause you? You're Father is as good as dead anyway!"

"Father!" protested one of the sons.

"Who asked you Bastard?! Your mother would still milk cows have I not squished you out of her!"

Charming.

"My Lord does not forget why am I here. Until his body is back in our crypt I will not believe My father Dead. Not without proof. And I will fight for him and my family." He took a step forward. "Now I will marry one of your daughters when the time is right, and one of your sons will be my squire. In exchange, we will cross this bridge with your support on our side of this war and you will remain loyal to us."

"You think it'll be that easy boy?!"

Robb squared his shoulders. It will be. He wouldn't leave with anything else on his conscience but those two promises. No matter what this old man could think.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It took one hour all in all, but they crossed the Twins. Robb acquired a new squire, the idea strange to him, as he wasn't even a knight, and a promise to marry one of Frey's daughters. He also swore the old man he would think about his proposal for his sisters if his father couldn't be saved on time. He didn't like the last one, for many reasons, but mainly because it meant he could fail in his rescue of his Father. He couldn't even think about the option. Unfortunately, it was a possibility.

As the Twins faded more and more behind them, Robb let his thought wander back on the letter safely hidden in his tunic.

Kyria…

 _Beware the dark eyes of the weasel_ she said… The weasel… smart weasel, cunning weasel…

Would this be… Was the Weasel Walder Frey?

He couldn't say for sure. But some people liked to compare him with the beast.

He didn't know what to think. He needed to be smart about this. About all of this. Fear gripped his heart. Father Kyria Sansa, Arya… He needed to be there for them. For all of them.

Please, let him be on time…

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still there? What do you think? Good? Bad? Awful?
> 
> Like I said, I couldn't just ignore this part of the story. Even though it comes here in the middle of a very stressful situation ^^ But I couldn't put it after, you'll see why ;)
> 
> I'll try to post in two weeks like I used to do. I can't really do that earlier, because I still need to work back my things in order. But I'll try to go back to my usual schedule.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Don't hesitate to share your opinion, I always like it ^^
> 
> See ya!


	19. Chapter 19: Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned Stark face the Kings Justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *keuf keuf keuf* TRIGGER! TRIGGER WARNING! MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING!
> 
> ...
> 
> SO This chapter is what you all waited for. Or, well, apprehended. I'm not going to say much, ya know, spoiler and everything, only that this chapter is on a completely different point of view. A character in the crowd. I don' t think to use her ever again, I only meant for her to be the somehow partial eyes for the scene.
> 
> This is the shortest chapter so far, for good reason. I had planned it to be longer but when I found my hands shaking for a long time after writing this, I thought it would be better for everyone to leave it there and put the second part of this chapter in the next one.
> 
> Too much too soon is never good in a story after all!
> 
> So I'm just going to apologize in advance and ask you all to be very careful. If you're sensible, skip all the end of the chapter. I'll mark the place with a (***).
> 
> Alright guys, ready?
> 
> ...
> 
> Yeah, me neither. But we have to, unfortunately.
> 
> Well, enjoy?

**Chapter 19: Justice**

**Year 298 after the Conquest, Tenth Month**

**Kingslanding**

**Alysa**

Today was the most exciting day of her life. The day of the traitor's execution! Everyone talked about it! The clients at the shop, their neighbors, her friends. The most important event of the year! More so than the death of King Robert!

Everyone had heard about Ned Stark. He was known to be the previous King's best friend and the most honorable man in the seven kingdoms. That was what he was known for. Until last month when he was arrested for treason. Alysa didn't know the details, she wasn't very interested in politics and noble's dramas. But This was different. This was treason of a man to his most precious friend.

For someone like Alysa, friendship was the most important thing in life. In a place like Kingslanding, even in the wealthiest parts, friendship was almost vital. Her grandmother had taught her that. She had many friends, and, as much as one of the wealthiest merchant in their part of the town. Their shop used to belong to Alysa's grandfather, but with him, dead, along with Alysa's Father lost to one of the wars, and Alysa's mother, lost to the dreads of childbirth, only her grandmother stayed to take care of the thing. Alysa too.

But Alysa was young still. Not yet four and ten. She needed to learn first. And she was. Everyday she had lessons with her grandmother, about the shop and the world they were leaving in. Alysa's family had always been relatively wealthy. They were no challenge to the biggest merchants of the city or the nobles of the court. But Alysa's family had the advantage of being there for longer than the others. Her grandmother had once told her their family was one of the first who came to live in Kingslanding, back when the city was born. She said the first Queens came to them for their dresses. And continued to do so for all the time there was a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Alysa liked to think it was true. Queen Cersei certainly came here often for her to believe so. Lately, so did the Stark girls. That was the other reason why she was so interested in the last scandal of court. Also why she was so angry at Ned Stark. She had thought she could relate to the Northern nobles. Honor, friendship. That was something she could understand.

But the man had betrayed everything. Even worse, he had brought his daughters with him in his doom.

In all honesty, Alysa liked those girls. The middle one especially. She was sweet and pretty and nice. Beautiful little flower, grandmother had called her.

To know she was now risking her life, because of her father's foolishness was painful to think about.

But today, finally, King Joffrey would seek justice for his Father, and the traitor was about to pay for his crimes. Oh, she couldn't wait to see that.

Besides, it was her first execution. Nothing else happened in this place. She was not close enough to Fleabottom to be part of the most sulfurous stories, and she was not wealthy enough to tell the tale of fantastic parties and feasts. She was in the middle ground. Where nothing interesting ever happened. But today would be different. Oh, she couldn't wait to see that!

"Go on Alysa, go on, you wanted to see the traitor, didn't you?" called Janis, the butcher's son.

They have known each other since they were toddlers. Janis was older than her, by two years. A man already and his Father's apprentice. Alysa liked him. He was tall and smart and not bad to the eye. Sometimes, Alysa wondered if she could one day marry him. But that would mean letting go of her grandmother's shop. Grandmother didn't like that.

As for now, she could content herself with the sight of the traitor punished. Happy with her plans for the day, Alysa waved one last time to her worried grandmother and ran right at her friend's heels. They ran excitingly in the busy streets of the city, slaloming between the people, catching pieces of conversations on the way. Many shared Alysa's opinion, the traitor couldn't die soon enough. The Sept was coming closer with each step, and with that, the end of the traitor. She knew death was not supposed to be a good thing, but in this case, she truly couldn't wait.

This was so exciting!

Along the road, they were joined by Myra and Sally, two of their friends. The girls, closer to Alysa's age, often find themselves helping the Septas taking care of children. They liked that they said. Alysa even suspected Myra wished to become one soon. She didn't get it. But she wouldn't comment it either.

"Are you sure you want to see that?" said Myra, catching their step with her quick ones.

"Don't be silly, of course! Don't you get it? Our first ever execution!"

"It's technically not an execution," said Sally with her soft voice. "the traitor is brought before the gods to answer his crimes against the crown and confess his treachery."

"But if he confesses, they'll punish him! Treason is a very strong crime." Responded Alysa, her mind rolling with the possibilities of the day to come.

She had been waiting for it!

"Do you think they will kill him?" she asked unsurely.

"Of course they will! No one should try to betray the King and be left alive!" said Janis with conviction.

"Lord Stark was supposed to be a good guy," Sally said sadly.

"Yeah! Everyone knows he was the fat King's best friend!"

"Apparently friendship doesn't mean the same thing for nobles." Said Anna.

Yes, apparently so.

"Hurry up! The Old Maester is already on the platform! The King will arrive soon!"

"Do you think the Queen will be there too? She's so pretty!" sighed Sally, her eyes dreamily looking for the platform where everything was supposed to happen.

"I don't like her." Said Alysa, " She's always mean to my grandmother when she comes into the shop."

"Nobleborns are always mean." Commented Myra wisely.

"Not always! The Stark daughters were very nice when they bought fabric in our shop! The pretty one with the bright eyes was very sweet with me!"

"It does not mean she's nice! Maybe she just pretends."

"Why?"

The guy frowned, thinking it through.

"I don't know. Nobles are weird."

Alysa took a minute to think this. Yes, they were weird… They always seemed to complicate things. Love, hate, friendship. All of it. It is no surprise that curtesy would be just as complicated for them. Or being nice for the sake of being nice, with no other motive.

Her train of thoughts was stopped when a large carriage made its way through the crowd. It was soon followed by another one, smaller.

The people screamed and waved energetically, and the first carriage stopped right in front of the Sept. The door opened and the new King stepped outside.

He was wonderful! His face was young and fair. Like the princes in the songs her Mother used to sang when she was younger. His crown shined brightly under the sun, the gems inside it reflected the light of day on his hair and the gold of the crown. It was so fine! The fabric of his tunic seemed to be made of gold too! He was golden from head to toe!

The Queen Mother came next. Her hair was the first and almost only thing Alysa could focus on for a moment. High and elegant, adorned by the small crown on top of it. It looked like her hair was made of gold. Just like her son.

Other people came after them, a bald little man wrapped in silk. Alysa had seen him talk to children from Fleabottom before. He was strange. Then there was the other one, the one grandmother didn't like. She said he was a bad man. He looked just as strange.

Then, before she could form any other thought on the matter, ten or so gold cloaks surrounded them. For safety she supposed.

They all took place around the platform, the King in front of the others. His eyes were locked on the second carriage, smaller and less decorated. It stopped in front of him, hiding him from Alysa's view for a moment.

The door opened and the Stark girls came out of it. The oldest one first, her very long hair tied in a thick braid, that cascaded all the way through her back. She wore a grey dress, that looked like nothing she ever saw before. It wasn't like the other women in court. Maybe it was something they wore up north? The white shirt under the dress was pretty with long sleeves and a tight neck. The fabric was embroidered in several places, but Alysa was too far to see what it was. The girl stood tall, with her hands clapped in her sisters.

The second one wore a pretty blue dress, the fabric familiar. It was the same fabric she bought at her grandmother's shop! Did she make her dress herself? It was also embroidered, more fully than the oldest one's. Her hair was dressed in a simple southern style, making it shine under the sun. They looked bright and almost fiery. This girl was truly beautiful.

"Did you see her?" she said to Sally, "The second Stark girl!"

"Yes! She's very pretty!"

"I heard she was going to marry the King?"

"Really?"

What a fine-looking couple that would make! Alysa allowed herself a moment longer, admiring the girl from afar wishing she could be like that. So beautiful and posed and elegant. Then her eyes found the last Stark girl. The child.

She was close to her older sister, closer than the other who wore herself elegantly. Her large eyes were easily noticeable even from Alysa was standing. She kept looking around her like she was searching for something. The oldest bend her head and seemed to say something that made her stop.

The little girl pressed her head against her sister's side for one second. It squeezed Alysa's heart. The three of them suddenly looked very distressed.

"To think their father is a traitor… Too bad. They're pretty." Said Janis, his eyes following the line of their silhouettes.

"Don't talk like that! Who says they aren't the same as their dad? My Father said the Northmen are all the same, barbaric, and savages! Did you heard about the Stark boy?" said someone next to him.

Alysa looked. It was a young man, older than all of them but not old yet. She knew his face for having seen him before lurking close to Janis's father's butchery, but she never really talked to him. She didn't talk to boys in general, with the exception of Janis.

"The Stark heir?" asked Myra softly "I have heard of him yes."

There were others Stark? He had other children? Or cousins maybe?

Oh, the family trees were always a big hot mess with those noblemen. One of their Neighbor used to work for the Targaryens when they were still Kings. He said the family tree had been so confusing, they used to mary their brothers and sisters to make it easier!

What a strange idea…

Suddenly, cutting short any discussion that could have been made between them, the crowd erupted in loud shouts of anger. They had been agitated before, but now they seemed animated with rage Alysa never witnessed before. She took a step back, almost automatically, afraid of the roars exploding around her.

"What's happening?" she asked frightened.

The crowd answered before anyone else.

"TRAITOR!"

"KILL HIM!"

"TRAITOR TO THE CROWN!"

"SHAME ON YOU STARK!"

"TRAITOR TO THE CROWN!"

"KILL HIM!"

"KILL THE TRAITOR!"

And it kept going. In the confusion, their little gang had to step back and back until her feet hit the Statue of Baelor the blessed, behind them.

"Stark! Stark is here!" said the girl next to Alysa.

In the middle of the mess around them, she couldn't have said if it was Sally or Myra or anyone else. Nor should it had mattered. Her entire attention was wrapped around the small group of people, slowly making their way to the platform and the people on it.

"Where? Where is he?" asked someone else.

"There!" she said, pointing the people.

Stark's head was low, and he seemed to have a visible limp in his walk. The golden cloaks around him were pulling him through the platform by his arms. He almost feels when they threw him into the platform. Then, slowly, under the roar of the crowd, he made his way to the center of the stand.

Alysa blinked and caught the man's head turned to the people watching him. The noble ones. The Queen looked satisfied, as did the King. But the three Stark girls were white with fear. Or, well it looked remarkably like fear. He stopped right there, and Alysa wished she could make him move. She was intrigued. She wanted to know what his expression was. Why was he looking like that?

Then, something changed. She watched, astonished as the man, the traitor, who one moment before couldn't have looked more broken, suddenly straightened his back. His head stayed in the same position for one moment longer, than he moved.

Slowly, he turned around, facing the crowd. His eyes slowly wandered around the faces in front of him, taking their hate in silence. He was impressive. Intimidating almost with those guards around him. For one single heartbeat, Alysa felt like it was him, the King, while King Joffrey with his boyish look seemed more akin of a child wearing a crown.

But it was stupid and truly dangerous to think that way. There was only one King of Westeros and it could not be otherwise.

But this man… there was something truly impressive in him. Intense. Frightening almost.

"He's kind of scary…" she confessed to Janis, right next to her.

"He's a traitor."

"Why is he looking at us like that?"

"What are they waiting for? Kill him!"

People around them were growing impatient. But still, Ned Stark didn't move or talk for a long time. Alone on this platform. He looked like Baelor's statue. Ready to stay right there for the rest of eternity.

"Father!"

The voice pitched higher than any other discussion around them. Janis's throat made an odd noise like he just strangled himself with a piece of bread too big for him. It was the little Stark. Her sister was pulling her back, but her little hands were obviously trying to free her from the grip of the oldest girl.

"Father!" she said again.

There were no tears on her face. Which was odd. The middle girl next to her was trembling with tears, but she wasn't. Odd.

"Father…" said the pretty Stark, her delicate little hands against her chest. Like she was trying to stop her heart from coming right out of her chest.

Somehow no one was talking. The attention had snapped right on those three girls. In their distress, they seemed out of shade here. Like they had no place in this platform, in this situation. Like there was a mistake somewhere.

Alysa could have almost believed that had she not known the story behind Ned Stark's treason. But somehow, seeing them like that, a part of her wanted to believe there was a mistake.

"Poor girls…" she said, to no one in particular.

The pretty middle girl made a tiny smile, a mockery in the middle of her tensed face, but still, a smile. Alysa's eyes fell on the oldest one. Her face was crumbled in something painful and complicated.

"It's weird." Said a woman behind them.

Janis looked at her. Alysa followed him. She looked old, but not yet grey. Her arm was wrapped around a tiny little girl, gripped to her skirt like mud on a bad day.

"If they are going to kill the traitor, why bring his daughters? They did nothing wrong."

"So that they don't try to kill the King. "said the man next to her. "Do not forget that one of them is a future queen."

"Yes, I suppose…"

"TRAITOR!" screamed someone in the back of the crowd, bringing Alysa right back on the situation, and the man still in the platform.

Something must have happened, for the man suddenly opened his mouth and talked.

His confession was brief and stern. It made the thing inside Alysa's belly curled differently. She couldn't put a name on it, but she didn't like it.

To see a man like that, confess his treason to his closest friend… It was even worse than talking about it.

"So it was true…"

"He confessed."

"I knew it!"

"He shouldn't be left alive!"

"Treason must be punished!"

"Kill him!"

She looked at the girls again. The little one was struggling for her sister to let go of her, the middle one was on the verge of tears. As for the oldest, her expression hadn't changed, it was just as complicated, mixed of different feelings, painful to watch. Her eyes were closed as If to stop her from showing anything else. Her grip on her sister looked painfully strong.

The old Maester stepped forward, stopping the rumbling crowd with his shuttering voice. Alysa's attention fell back on him.

"As- As we've sinned, so do we suffer." He said slowly.

Alysa blinked at the words. Anticipation building inside her This was it.

The judgment. The sentence. This was happening. The reason why she wanted to come in the first place.

The dark thing inside her that Ned Stark and his daughters had somehow awoken moved again, and suddenly, she wondered. Ned Stark was a traitor; he was about to be killed. Executed for his crimes. But… Why did she felt that way suddenly? Why didn't she felt the joy and anticipation that had kept her awake all night at the idea of justice served?

From the corner of her eyes, she saw the three girls move, the two oldest around the little one.

There was something wrong about this scene. She didn't know what, she couldn't put words on it, but the more time passed the more she felt something was amiss.

The girls, maybe. They shouldn't be there. They shouldn't witness their father died. It was enough for them to know it was happening. To make them witness it… It was cruel.

The oldest had still her eyes close. She seemed to be mouthing something, the bottom of her face moving fast, too fast for actual words. The little one was stuck close to her, glued to her side. The middle one right next to them, both hands pressed against her collar bones. Pale and trembling.

"… The gods are just!" said the old Maester, cutting Alysa from her panicking thought. "But, Beloved Baelor taught us, they can also be Merciful."

With a pause, he slowly turned to the King who overlooked them all from his place on the stairs. Next to him and the Queen, the three Stark girls were giving him their full attention.

"What is to be done with this traitor your grace?"

The reaction was immediate. Everyone around Alysa starts shouting again, reclaiming the traitor's head. Alysa was tempted to do just that, her entire being consumed with the energy around her, the hate, the burning anger against the treason of this man. But somehow, she hesitated. She had wished for this to happen. It was expected.

But something felt wrong suddenly. She couldn't help it.

Before she could decide what to do, the King held a hand, silencing the crowd. He wore a small smile, and for one second Alysa feared he was going to pardon the man. He couldn't! This had been a confession! Traitors needed to be executed! They had to!

But then it meant the girls would have to witness their father died. That was not fair! But it wasn't fair to just let him walk away after such a confession.

She was lost in what to do, what she wanted to see happening, so much that she missed a good part of the King's speech. She went back to the present when the King suddenly turned his head to his side, locking eyes with the middle Stark girl.

"…and my Lady Sansa," he said, turning what looked like a loving gaze to the middle Stark girl, "along with her sisters, had begged mercy for her father."

Alysa's heart stopped, right on her chest. What has he said? What was said before? Was he going to spare him? Send him to the wall? To prison? What did she miss?

"What did he say?" she asked Janis.

"He said his mother wants Ned Stark to take the black."

"What? He can't!"

Couldn't he? It was still a sentence… No treason meant death. It had always been, and it'll always be. No, he needed to be executed. He had to pay for his crimes. He had too.

But still…

Next to the Queen, the oldest Stark girl wore a strange expression. Something between horror and hope. From where she was, Alysa could see her hands trembling on her sister's dress.

"But they have the soft heart of women."

The oldest Stark girl's face fell, horror crushing hope in a twisted expression from her mouth. She gasped a cry like a wounded animal, temporarily bringing her little sister's attention on her and away from the traitor. The little Stark opened her mouth. But the King spoke again, louder.

"So long as I'm your King, treason shall never be unpunished." He said strongly.

Oh, gods.

"NO!" screamed the old Stark girl.

Oh, gods!

"Ser Ilyn, Bring me his head." Finished the King harshly.

"NO! NO STOP IT!"

"FATHER!"

"NO!"

"PUT THAT SWORD DOWN! THAT'S MY FATHER'S SWORD!"

"STOP IT PLEASE STOP!"

"FATHER! LET GO OF ME! FATHER!"

Something snapped. All around them. Chaos busted around the place Alysa's eyes couldn't leave the stage.

"FATHER!"

"STOP IT STOP! SOMEBODY STOP HIM!"

"FATHER!"

"LET GO OF ME!"

They were all screaming at the same time, shouting in despair. The people were mad around them but Alysa couldn't ignore the cries. Nor did she even thought about doing so.

The Oldest one was gripping the little girl, screaming for the guards to let go of the big sword that Ser Ilyn seemed ready to take. The middle one was shooting in one of the guard's arms, trying to force him to let her go. The little one was fighting her sister's grip like a savage, shooting to everyone coming too close to let her go.

"LET GO OF ME! KYRIA LET GO OF ME!"

"FATHER!"

"STOP IT! DADDY! DADDY! STOP!"

The thing is Alysa's belly curled tighter, stealing her voice and the rage that had been burning in her chest. The woman behind her, the one who had talked earlier was moaning in distress, hiding her crying daughter against her leg.

Her wailing echoing the Stark girls. Both gripped her right in the heart. Squeezing it mercilessly.

The people in front of the platform seemed to beg for the traitor's head, but Alysa didn't find in her the strength to agree. Treason must be punished. But there was something wrong with this scene.

The bald man and the queen were talking to the King, but his eyes were locked on the big sword, now in Ser Ilyn's hands.

"LET ME GO!"

"DADDY!"

"STOP THAT! STOP!"

Someone shouted and Alysa's eyes followed it.

"ARYA NO!"

"What is she doing?"

"Oh, this girl! The mother protects her!"

"She's going to get killed! It's an execution!"

"Why no one is stopping her?"

"She's going to ruin it! Somebody stop this child!"

"ARYA!"

The little girl had somehow escaped her sister's grip. She was running, pushing everyone around her, the guards, the Queen, the King, fighting and biting her way down to the traitor, whose face jerked in her direction. Behind her, the oldest sister was following, calling her name.

"ARYA STOP!"

"DADDY!"

"ARYA NO!" that was the Father. "Stand back!"

Everything was quick and confusing. She could barely follow what happened. But she couldn't drop her gaze. Her breath was stuck in her throat. The King was screaming to his guards to stop the girl, Ned Stark who had seemed so shocked just a moment before, so resigned to his fate, was now shooting at his girl to stand back. Fighting to stand, to protect her. It gripped her heart and squeezed the breath out of her to see the man gasping for a strength he didn't have a moment before, just so his child would be safe. For one abominable moment, she wished he would stand, she wished to see him grab the sword and slay everything between him and his children. Like the songs. But he was hurt and the guards were just as strong around him, putting him down like a dog.

But the girl, Arya, she kept running, pushing and hitting and fighting with everything she had, desperate to reach her father. To save him.

Their eyes were locked as both of them tried to fight the inevitable with the courage of wounded animals.

It was impossible, even Alysa knew that. But the determination, the naked despair on her little face. The way her sister's voice broke behind her, both of them. The agonizing cried of the middle one, Sansa, still under the arms of the guards. The fear in the oldest, as her arms tried desperately to catch back her sister. It was painful. Painful to watch, to witness. She couldn't stand it, it wasn't fair! None of this was fair! These girls were losing their family in the middle of public execution and why no one was protecting them? The mere thought of such a thing happening to her strangled a cry in her throat.

She wished she could help them, this little girl so desperate. She surprised herself, screaming with the crowd, for the girl to stop, to stand back, to look away. Anything to shield her from this.

"ARYA!"

"STOP IT! PLEASE! SOMEONE STOP HIM! DADDY!"

"FATHER!"

"ARYA NO!"

Ser Ilyn was right in front of the man. One of the guards had a hand on the top of his head, putting it down.

"Oh, gods it's happening!"

"Someone catches this girl!"

"What are they doing! It's just a child!"

"ARYA!"

It mustn't have taken more than a heartbeat, for everything to happen. Alysa didn't even blink. She could have missed something had she done it.

It mustn't have been faster than that. Just a snap of her fingers. But to Alysa, it lasted hours. She saw it all, shattered right in front of her, every move, every sound, duplicated like thousand of cries. She saw it all. The images forever burned inside her brain, killing something in there she didn't know she had.

The oldest girl somehow caught the little one. She came out of nowhere. She dragged her away, just by a couple of inches. Just enough to be safe from the sword dangerously high in the executioner's hands. A scream on both their lips. The sword fell down. The name on the father's lips died right in the middle of it. Strangled- cut out of him painfully.

"KY-"

!

!

!

The screams stopped. All of them. All stolen from the throats. Like Stark's.

Up in the sky, the sound of the sword against the flesh scared a bunch of birds. Their wings were the only sound in the place for one single moment. One moment, that seemed to last hours. The head rolled. And rolled. And rolled. The body fell on one side, one leg twitching. Blood rained right out of the severed neck. Red and abundant. The dark floor drinking it quickly, the puddle spreading by the second.

A leg twitched.

The hit had made it splashed on Ser Ilyn's tunic. His hood.

The girls face. A long slash of blood ornated the little girl's face. The oldest one's hands, on her sister's head, to shield her from the sight, was red. Red and white. Trembling.

And the head kept rolling. And rolling. Until it reached an obstacle. The oldest Stark's foot.

First, there was this sound again, like a wounded animal cornered in a deadly trap, aware of his own end too close to ignore. Then a moan.

Then a scream.

But it wasn't the oldest. It was the little girl. Screaming her lungs out, her eyes glued to the head by her feet.

Suddenly everything moved again. The crowd, the girls, everyone.

The lady Sansa fell like a broken doll, almost pulling down a guard in her fall. White as death. But Alysa could not look at her. Her eyes were on the other two. Their faces soiled by the execution of their father. Right under their eyes. Not even four feet farther from them.

The little girl, Arya didn't stop screaming, her eyes to her father. The oldest moaned again, and with a strangled cry fell back on her knees. The head moved by her feet. It was too much for her too. She called for her father, shouting it one, two, three times. Mumbling things between her breath. Even from where she was, Alysa could see her eyes, huge and scary, searching around her with confusion. Confusion and horror. She looked around and grabbed her sister. The little thing who kept screaming.

Then she screamed too, loud sobs that seemed to be ripped right out of her gut like nothing could prevent them from coming out, not even her own will. She shacked with their strength her face turned to the sky. Red and puffed and white and bloody. The fabric of her dress greedily drinking the blood.

They screamed and screamed and screamed and never seemed to stop

The body twitched again, one leg moving, and the oldest cries were stronger for it.

Some of the screams stopped. Gradually. But not the girls. They kept screaming and screaming and screaming. Without even breathing.

Soon no one else was talking. The place was filled with a heavy silence. Painful and awkward as everyone was witnessing the pain of those girls, loud and uncontrollable. Alysa strangled a sob. This was awful, this was unfair. She didn't want to watch any more of this mascarade. This was a nightmare. She wanted to go home, to hug her grandmother and reassure herself she was still there for her. She didn't want to see this.

In the middle of all this, a single clap broke the scene. The guards moved to reveal their young King.

Years later, when someone would ask Alysa of Kingslanding what happened the day of Ned Stark execution, she would remember being terrorized. By the screams who seemed to never stop. By the body who kept moving without its head. And, more than anything else, by the ecstatic joy in the King's face as he watched greedily the pain of the three new orphans. Clapping his hands like a child in front of a puppet show.

More than anything else. She will remember feeling sick and awful. And never breathe a word of how much she had wanted this execution to happen. Ashamed of the mere idea of sharing the joy illuminating the young King handsome face.

For hours after that, once safely back in her home, Alysa would still be haunted by the screams, hidden in her grandmother's arms, sobbing for the horror that had been. For what this excursion to the trial of Lord Eddard Stark had cost her. A scar in her soul, in the innocence of the child she had been. She would hide and hear them, the screams, the broken sobs, the calls for a father that would never come. Alysa would still hear them. And they would still haunt her for years and years to come.

This day, without a doubt, was one of the worst days of Alysa's life.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breath*
> 
> Anyone still alive?
> 
> Alright, folks, that's it. Ned is gone. I'm so sorry... I just didn't think of any way for him to live. His death is the start of many other things and without it I couldn't continue my story as planned...
> 
> As for the rest of it... well, I think you guessed by now that I will change a lot of things in the girl's path in life. Arya won't leave Kingslanding, not now. Sorry for those who still hoped
> 
> In my mind, as strong as she is, she never technically saw her father's head fall off in the show. Yoren caught her before and shield her from it. I think somehow not seeing it while it happened allowed her to deal with it without as much trauma as she could have, had she seen it all. See what I mean? Here she has no one to stop her, or, well she has Kyria, but she's also to close to be caught in time. And seeing it that way will make her react and deal with it differently. Which is important for what I have planned for her as well as for Sansa.
> 
> But we'll see about it later.
> 
> So, this part of the story is almost over, with only five chapters left and only two others in Kingslanding I think... Next time, we'll see the other part I had planned for this chapter at first. I am working on it (with some difficulties I admit...) and I hope to be able to publish in two weeks!
> 
> I thank you all for supporting me, and I really hope everyone is still intact and in one piece by the end of this huge mess. You can call me a monster after that, I deserve it But that's the highest we'll be emotionally for this part of the story, I promise! It's over now!
> 
> Well.. nothing is good for the girls for sure but they won't have to go through something like that again ^^
> 
> ...will they?
> 
> Love you guys!


	20. Chapter 20: Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Ned's execution.

**Chapter 20: Disaster**

**Year 298 AC Tenth Month**

**Kingslanding**

**The Hound.**

The little fucker was ecstatic. He had been like that for days, of course, gleeful little cunt. Way too proud for having cut down the wolf's head. Or asked his lackey to do it. Didn't really matter. The cunt liked blood. And screams. And pain.

But today was another level of sick joy. That was worrying on its own. The hound watched as the little fucker's feet barely touched the floor while he walked. The Hound watched silently, obedient dog. He wondered how far he would go today.

The execution day had been as awfully delightful for the boy as he had thought it would be. More so even, for the display of the Stark girls had been the cherry on top of his cake. The perfect touch to his masterpiece. The pain, the agony in the screams had delighted him. So much that for one moment Sandor had thought the boy had wetted his pants like the green prick he was.

Wouldn't have surprised him if he did. The little fucker was mad. The Hound knew it. He had known it for years. Couldn't have been otherwise with such a mother.

But then again, a dog does not judge his masters. He watches. He learns. Never judge.

The boy enjoyed his new status. Immensely. He had an entire city full of new toys and he would never shy away at the opportunity of playing with them. The minstrel with his funny little song and his funny little tongue was just a step. He was not going to stop.

Had he cared a little for those disgusting people, the Hound would have pitied them. But he didn't care. Bunch of fuckers bloodthirsty and famished for gold and power.

Nothing was good in this city. It smelled like shit, it sounded like shit and most of the time, shit happened. The poor, the rich. No difference. Everything stinks the same. In a sense, they had the King they deserved. A little shit.

Not that good old Robert had been any better. But at least the man had known how to drink. It sounded good to Sandor. If not for the rest, he would have been alright by his books. But then so did most of the shitty people of the court. If not for the rest…

The Hound didn't like lies. To others, to himself. In any shape or form, he hated them. Useless cunt lies. Like Littlefucker or Varys. Knights lies. The Hound, never.

The truth was bad enough on its own.

"Come dog! It's time I go see my lady! She must miss my presence dearly!" exclaimed the boy, a wide smile on his twisted face.

And to think they thought him ugly.

The Stark girls had been locked up in their room since their father's death. No one had seen them at court. But servants talked. They said they were half-mad with grief. Crying and moaning in the night, as if to call their beast in the cells below the Keep. Sometimes they answered. They said the little one had lost her voice and her mind to her father's blood on her cheek. They said the oldest one had transformed into a beast, savage and violent, ready to bite anyone daring enough to come closer from them.

They said the middle one was broken like a doll.

She looked pale enough to be so. Small soft and weak. Like a little doll. With bird ones. It was almost painful to watch. Her red hair made her look like a corpse, as did her pretty pink dress. As the boy King waited for her to exit her apartments, Sandor caught a glimpse of the two others. Like for the execution, the oldest was clinging in the youngest. But, instead of fighting, the wolf pup stayed motionless in her sister's arms, her empty eyes following the middle girl.

The last one wasn't better. Her hair looked unkempt and ran wildly around her face and figure. As the sun glimpsed behind them, her shadow cast on the floor looked like one of a beast. Large and furry. Threatening almost. The Hound looked at it a moment, almost waiting for eyes to open on the floor and look at him with the same hardening intensity the oldest Stark was looking at him.

She was odd. Crazy indeed. Those two large eyes lost in the middle of that hair were enough for a good horror story like only Northern folks knew how to tell.

The Hound looked away. Madness indeed…

"My lady Sansa!" pipped the boy with trepidation. "Come walk with me! A lady should walk with her King don't you think?"

The girl didn't answer, her large eyes full of pain and sorrow.

"Don't you think?" he asked again, the edge of his voice cringing on the words like nails in the glass

"Y-yes your grace." She chirped, scared shitless.

Good little bird thought the Hound.

The door shat behind her and she jumped, like a rabbit caught by the wolf. It made Sandor almost snort. This little thing was no wolf. Scared little girl,l afraid to be alone. A tiny little bird with pretty feathers and still no idea of how dangerous the pride was around her. He pitied her.

They made their way around the red keep, surrounded by four other Kinguards, included dear old Ser Trant who towered on the little bird like a starving beast. She seemed to shrink a bit more with every step. The Hound watched silently, vigilant of every soldier close to the boy king.

They passed a bunched of people all of them dropping their gaze as the little cunt crossed them, his nose in the air and smugness pulsing out of him.

"It's a wonderful day isn't it my lady?" he asked eagerly, his bright eyes drinking on the poor sight of the broken girl in front of him.

The girl didn't talk. Her bright head bobbled a little, but from the look on the boy's face, it wasn't enough. Far from it.

"Isn't it?" he asked again.

She stayed quiet. Joff twitched. His mouth sneered. But he didn't act. Surprisingly. He frowned, and turned his back on her, sniffing like a child unsatisfied. The Hound watched as the boy resumed his route, his little betrothed on his heels. He didn't act. He didn't complain. He didn't hit the girl for her insolence.

The little cunt was never nice when he could be. He was planning something. Of that Sandor was sure. It took Sandor only a moment to understand what the little fuck planned to do.

To hear the girl scream her distress seemed to please him immensely. She tried to escape, tears already gathering on her long eyelashes. She moved her head in an attempt to escape the view of her dead father's head put on a pike next to those of every single member of the Starks household.

"Look, look! This one is your father of course! The price in my collection. This one is your Septa, and this one is your sister's maid! Yours is here, on the other side. Look at it!"

"Please don't!" she begged.

"LOOK AT IT!"

Trant gripped her, his large gantlet crushing the flesh of her upper arms. She squeaked and cried harder. It wouldn't help. Stupid girl thinking her tears could save her from the boy. He yearned for them.

"Please don't, your grace-" she begged still between sobs.

"Ser Meryn! Make her look! I want her to watch it! Make her! Now!" ordered the boy.

The man's large hand grabbed the girl's small face and forced her to look. The sobs throating their way out of her mouth were high and painful to hear. She was breathing fast, faster than she should have been. It was fucking annoying for Sandor, but the little Cunt seemed to like it enough.

The hound expected her to continue her useless crying, but somehow, she didn't. I happened suddenly. One moment she was crying uselessly, then something snapped inside her. She blinked the tears from her eyes and slowly, moved them to look. The Hound didn't need to look to know when she found her father's head, the shock moved her entire body, like a punch in the gut. But she looked.

It was almost hypnotic to look at her. The way tears stopped rolling down her cheeks, the way her face is made blank as a stone. He watched as her back straightened, growing taller, stiffer, more composed. Like a doll. Something hardening behind those eyes. Slowly crushing the distress.

Huh… Not so fragile so… Not exactly what he expected.

Joff, satisfied, continue in his ranting of introducing the girl again with the heads of her entire household. Her eyes followed his pointers, and Sandor watched silently. Intrigued by the steel who slowly transforms the water of her deep blue eyes into cold unforgiving ice.

The girl isn't as stupid as she seemed to be. Nor weak apparently. Huh.

"How long do I have to watch?" she asked suddenly, her eyes back on her father's head.

Joffrey didn't like that, stupid cunt, and sneered his answer.

"As long as it pleases me."

Judging by the tone of his voice, the game did not amuse him as much as it did when she was crying. Little shit.

Joff looked back at his trophies.

"When my grandfather and my uncle will win the war against your treacherous brother, I'll put his head here too! I'll have it brought to our wedding and I'll make you kiss it!" he said gleefully.

The little girl twitched and her gaze changed again. The Hound was almost impressed. She had balls.

"Maybe it's your head he'll bring us." She said back, blinking her cold gaze on the King's face.

"What did you say?" he groaned menacingly.

"To me and Kyria and Arya. Maybe he'll bring your head to us," she said, spitting almost the last words like poison in her mouth.

Balls. Stupid, but balls.

"What. Did. You. Say?" the boy asked again, trembling with rage, his face turning an interesting shade of red.

She didn't answer, her chin was high and proud. The hound watch with growing interest, sensing the shit about to go down.

"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I am your King!"

"And you killed my father!" she spitted back. "You promised mercy and you killed him!"

"I gave him the mercy of a quick death! He deserved far more like the Traitor he is! I should have ripped every single member of his body and make him eat them like the northern beast he is!"

"The only beast here is you!" she groaned back quite fiercely for such a little thing.

The boy is purple as his point. He shacked his little fists, took a step back, and then turned around, to finally come back in front of the little lady.

"Mother said a King should never strike his lady." He said, apparently full of regrets. "Ser Meryn."

Sandor put his hand on the pommel of his sword, more like a reflex. He didn't move more. He was the boy's dog, he wasn't some kind of knight or other shit like that. And he didn't really care if the silly little chicken couldn't keep her mouth closed.

With one large swift of his hand, Trant slapped the girl. One, two, three times. Each one was stronger than the other. Whatever sound or protest she may have been swallowed back by the hiss of pain that escaped her.

The sly fucker would have kept going if the boy King hadn't stopped the all thing after the fourth one.

Her head stayed down, all will of fighting the boy apparently hit out of her. For now.

"I would have you killed along with your useless sisters. But mother said I still have to marry you. A King should respect his word." He said conversationally, walking back on the bridge, closer to the heads. "So, as soon as you've to bleed I'll put a child in you. Mother said it shouldn't be long now. Your sister bleeds at four and ten didn't she?"

Her head was still low. The Hound waited. Two piercing eyes shone through her falling hair. She looked mad. Like the other one. Trant pushed her forward.

"You'll never have me." she growled hatefully.

The boy snapped.

"I AM KING!" he howled. "I TAKE WHAT I WANT! PUNISH HER! PUNISH THE LITTLE TRAITOR!"

Meryn hit her again. Sandor felt his eyes twitched. He seemed to enjoy that. Another fucker.

Finally she broke. A loud sob escaped her mouth and Joffrey made the fucker stop. He smiled, delighted, and foolishly turned his back on the girl. SHe shacked

Sandor saw it coming. He could practically hear the thought in the girl's head. Jumping and planning. She looked down, then back at the boy. She wanted to push him. Stupid girl. She wouldn't make it out alive. The guards all around would break her before that.

She took one step forward and Sandor acted.

He pushed her back, grabbing the girl almost as strongly as Trant had done before, and made a show of putting his dirty clout on her face. She was shaking under his hands, but she took the thing.

From the corner of his eyes, Sandor saw the little cunt look back, still smug. Stupid little shit.

"So. Will you obey now? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?"

The girl kept silent, her eyes down on the dirty clout in her hands.

"Answer your King." growled Trant.

"Yes your grace."

He snorted. His eyes lingering longer on her slender neck, white and delicate. Again, Sandor could almost hear him think.

"Tomorrow you and your useless sister will be at court. The people need to see what traitors look like. Ser Meryn and my dog will see to have you there." he threatened again, his voice calm and airy.

As if he had not screamed his own head out a minute before.

"Yes your grace," she said again.

"Perfect."

Without another word, he walked past her and leave the place. The hound followed him, dutiful dog.

"Ser Meryn," called the boy, "bring her back to her chambers. My lady is quite tired and doesn't need any more of the good of my keep." He ordered, satisfied. "Dog, go with her."

Trant mumbled his goods and Sandor nodded.

With that it was done.

The stupid little girl tried to give him back the thing, dirtied with her noble blood. Sandor grunted.

"You'll need it more." He only said. "Do what he wants girl and save yourself the pain."

Trant grabbed the girl's arm again and took great pleasure of twisting it all the way through her chambers. Fucking cunt.

She trembled on her legs all the way to her room. Surprisingly, she didn't cry. The Hound couldn't help but watch her. Something was different, in the way she seemed to hold herself. He wondered what it was.

They reached the rooms and promptly unlocked the door. Trant threw the girl inside it with a satisfaction so clear on his face, Sandor wondered if the guys wasn't going to split from that alone like a green little boy. Wouldn't really surprise him.

The two other Stark chicks immediately ran to their sisters, panic clear in their faces.

"Sansa!" cried the oldest.

She still looked like a wild animal. Disheveled and crazy looking. Her bloodshot eyes jumped right on his burned face, then Trant's.

"Who did this?!" she groaned.

The little girl behind her was gripping her sister's arm, trying to pull her closer. The little bird all scared and silent.

"The girl should learn how to speak to the King." Was all the answer Trant decided to give.

Horseshit.

"The King should learn how to be a King instead of a pathetic little boy." She growled right back.

Sandor watched with mild interest. He wondered if she would snap and bite the fucker. Would be entertaining.

Trant reacted immediately, his sword half out of its pommel, purple veins pulsing on his ugly head.

"You dare?!"

"I dare what?" she snapped back. "What are you going to do now? Kill us? Your pathetic little King wouldn't have anything to trade to my brother's wrath! He'll crush him like the stupid boy he is!"

The Hound almost winced, when Trant's hand hit the girl's cheek. She turned her head back, freezing him with her gaze for a moment. Hatred and furious anger burning inside her.

"Treacherous bitch." Spit the fucker, furious.

He held his arm again, ready to strike when Sandor stopped him.

"Come on Trant, we've got work to do." He grunted, pulling the arm away.

"Let go of me dog! Who put you in charge?"

"The King want us back, don't make me throw you at his feet." He threatened.

The man grunted frustrated but didn't seem to want to test him. Coward. He looked one last time at the Stark bitched, all three of them watching back with barely restrained anger. No doubt had they been men they would have fought them by then.

He couldn't say why he cared, not that he really wanted to take the time to think about it, but he felt compelled to wait for the fucker to leave, before talking again.

"He'll report that to the King. I hope you know that."

The little girl growled something suspiciously sounding like words. But they didn't made sense. What was wrong with this one?

"I don't care." Said the oldest. "He could say what he want, that little shit will get what he deserve in the end. Even if I have to strangle him in his ugly chair myself."

"That's treason."

"He can't kill us. We're hostages." Said the little bird, wrapped around her little sister.

"DIdn't stop him for your Father. Won't stop him for you too."

"It can't be worse anyway."

"You sure about that?" he grunted.

She blinked and look at him, her wild hair hiding half her face. Fear. Now she was scared. Stupid girl. A bit too late for that.

He locked the door behind them, trapping them back in their pretty cage, and left.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The next time he saw the Stark girls, they were at court. He watched as the King and his dear momma gleefully removed old Selmy from the Kingsguard. The man indeed knew how to leave with a bang. He was loud and dramatic and rang true to every word out of his mouth.

And he would have certainly cut through every other sick fucker he used to call brothers had he wished it.

Following the old knight out of the throne room with his eyes, Sandor was momently caught with a patch of bright red he had missed before.

And here they were, looking grim and pale and almost as crazy as the day before. Or maybe slightly less fucked in the head. Dressed like perfect little ladies. Except for the maddening eyes. Red and puffed, almost bruised. They looked pathetic. And disturbed.

The little bird's face was purple and puffed. The oldest one had a large blue cheek. Gifts from Trant. Both of it. They watched as Selmy left the room, not sparing anyone even a single glare.

"Ah my ladies!" called the boy King, waving to the Stark girls to come closer.

They looked at each other, painfully awkward in their hesitation.

"I said come." He repeated, pumping his fist in the pommel of one of the melted swords.

The middle girl jerked, pinged her little sister's sleeve, and stood forward. The little one was glaring furiously at anyone and anything. The oldest looked like she wanted to bit the first hand who dare come to close to her face.

"I assume you're over your father's pathetic end by now," Joff said joyfully. "No one should lose any time crying over a traitor. He got what he deserved. Didn't he lady Sansa?"

The girl kept quiet, her eyes down. The wince of her face said enough for Sandor. The girl didn't want to be hit again by Trant. Smart.

"The King asked you a question." Groaned Trant from his glorified post in front of the King's ugly chair.

"Yes, you grace." She said numbly.

He snorted, falling back on his chair like a disappointed child. Then he pulled forward again. The Hound kept watching, intrigued.

"Tell me, my lady, does the idea of justice satisfy you? Having traitors like your Father lose their head while the public rejoice for the man who carry the sentence? Aren't you happy to have such a man as your betrothed?"

"You are not that man." Rumbled the oldest girl taking a step forward.

The boy jumped.

"What?" groaned the King.

She took another step pulling herself in front of the middle girl.

"You are not that man." She repeated loud enough for the entire court to hear. "You are not even a man. Just a boy not strong enough to pass the sentence himself. I don't even think you can swing the sword."

"How dare you?!" boomed Blount his sword half out, ready to strike.

Sandor snorted. Of course, he would.

"I am your King you fool!" shirked the boy. "How dare you talk to me that way?!"

"The man who passed the sentence should swing the sword." Boomed the Stark. "You couldn't even hear our Father's last words. Or were you too busy enjoying your illusion of power while leading gleefully your brand-new Kingdom to a war with at least one other major family of Westeros?"

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT? I AM YOUR KING!" he shirked again, his voice higher. "I'll have your head removed like I did to your traitor Father! I'll skin your beasts alive and make you eat them while my Kingsguards teach you the lesson you should have learned stupid woman!"

The little one rasped something too distorted to be words. The middle one took a step back. The oldest took a step forward, almost daring the King to execute his menace.

"You'll do nothing boy." She said back. "You can't carry the sword to pass your sentence. You can't even hit a girl by yourself. Do your precious Kingsguards also shit for you or are you able to do it yourself?"

Some of the people around the court puffed a laugh, strangled behind their hands.

"SILENCE!"

He stood, finally, one hand high, ready to strike. She didn't move.

"You can't kill me. I am all that you have to stop the War against my brother. Me and my sisters. Without us, there is nothing stopping Robb to ravage your grandfather's armies and make you sing like the pathetic little boy you are."

"SER MERYN!"

The knight struck the girl. She laughed.

"You can't even hit me yourself! Are you afraid of little girls Joffrey?!"

"I AM YOUR KING! I WILL PUNISH YOU! PUNISH YOU LIKE THE TRAITOR WHORE YOU ARE!"

"Come here then!" she said, her arms wide open. "Punish me yourself, little boy!"

Was she mad? It wasn't even provocation at this race. It was suicide! Did she really think he wouldn't have her arrested and killed? He executed the Warden of the North, she was a simple maiden, without any support or family. He was going to crush her.

The other two seemed less sure of their sister's display. The middle one pulled her sleeve, whispering what Sandor assumed was a warning or a plea to stop. But the girl kept laughing, calling the King a boy and a fool.

The strangest in all of this was no doubt the King. Joffrey was angrier than ever before, purple, shooting, throwing his arms away like a hurricane. Spitting everywhere. But, odder, he didn't act. He didn't call his guards to strike the girl again, or even him, to shut the fool up. He kept trying to intimidate the girl, repeating again, and again he was the King. Each time made her laugh louder. Finally, after two good minutes of the display, the door opened, revealing a servant who ran haltingly to the King paper in hand.

"Your grace! A message from the front!"

"GO AWAY! GO BEFORE I KILL YOU TOO!"

The man took several steps back. The Stark girl muted her laugh, a mocking smile still wide on her face. The middle girl was white as death at this point.

It took the intervention of the Queen Mother to calm the boy. She appeared, looking distressed and strangely pale.

"I WANT THEM DEAD!" he said again. "SER MERYN! HIT THEM! HURT THEM! MAKE THEM PAY!"

The man obeyed. The slap was loud and had the good grace to stop the girl from laughing like a mad… girl.

Meryn hit her two other times before Joffrey was calm enough to leave the room. The hound followed him.

He was left in front of the door, while the King and its mother joined the other members of the small council. The Hound grunted and stood outside the door. Good dog waiting for its masters.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Varys**

A disaster.

There was no other way to describe this.

Everything since the unfortunate death of Lord Eddard Stark had been spiraling into a burning disaster, not unlike the one built just before the demise of the last dynasty who sat on the Iron Throne.

And that was him, the poor spider who was left to see the Kingdom falling into another War, promising to be as horrible as the last ones. Already news was alarming for the realm.

The Queen had just left the council chamber, following a guard to the throne room where apparently the lady Kyria was antagonizing the King. That particular piece of information was odd to Varys. The girl had struck him as a bright mind with a lot of potentials to be a great player in the game. To anger a King as volatile as Joffrey right after her father's execution for treason, and while her brother was starting a rebellion seemed very stupid.

But then, grief could do a lot of things to someone. Especially someone so young.

Then, he also has heard of the beating the young lady Sansa went through by ser Meryn. Maybe the young Kyria wanted to protect her sisters by leading the King's fury on herself. Not a particularly good plan, but still… believable.

While waiting for the Queen to come back and resume their complicated meeting, Varys allowed himself to think back of everything happening around him.

A disaster.

In all honesty, he hadn't really thought this plan of sending Ned Stark to the Wall was truly going to work. It had looked a bit too good to be true.

The days before the judgment could have given him hope. But one spared look at the new King was all that was needed for him to know. Even with every promise the King made to young Sansa, Varys couldn't miss the vague tone of the words. Justice and Mercy did not always mean survival.

So, naturally, nothing happened as announced.

The sentence on his own had been a mistake. Putting this child on the throne was an even biggest mistake. However, where the disaster truly took place, was with the children. In retrospect, he should have guessed it. Children were always paying the consequences of their parents' actions.

Besides, every Stark Varys had ever met was strongly attached to family. Why would those girls had been different? And the little one was fierce and wild still. Of course, she would try to save her Father.

Unfortunately, it resulted in the display they had the displeasure to admire. Transforming Joffrey's… doubtful show of power into the birth of what could easily be a martyr, dying for his family and children.

The silence, after those heartbreaking screams had been a good show of the fiasco that would certainly follow. The almost thick tension that accompanied those girls back in their carriage had been even more significant.

Had he been a better man, Varys certainly would have tried to comfort those poor souls. But as he had said poor Lord Stark, he was no hero. He couldn't interfere more than he already had.

Instead, Varys thought. It made no doubt to him that whatever Joffrey had thought to do with this public execution had failed and threatened to even backfire right on his face.

The deepness of all this pain had impacted the crowd. Varys didn't even need to look closely to found the gaze of the people, following the Starks back in their golden cage. That silence, dragging on with every moment of contemplation of the sadness and sorrow that weighed down the atmosphere was more meaningful than the King's little display arriving just before.

Those children had moved the audience. To have to see that man, so resolved to his fate, rise and fight again at the mere idea of his girls being hurt while he still breathed... It couldn't have been more perfect. Or horrible.

Just like he said. A disaster.

People could relate to this. The love of a father for his daughters. The love of daughters for their father. It happened everywhere, with anyone. They could see themselves in the Starks. And in so, they could feel their pain as their own. And the blood clashing with their pale skins would last longer in their minds than any message the King had wished to send. Purity tainted by men's cruelty.

The place had been full. And deadly silent. There had been more than enough people around here, for the tale of what happened here to be spread all around the Seven kingdoms. And such a tale was perfect for songs.

As Lord Tywin liked to remind them far to often, a good song could be just as persuasive as any threat or plea. If the words were right.

"What happened out there?" asked Maester Pycelle, his trembling hands taping the table.

"Matters of court my lord." Answered Varys. "Things like that can take time, as we all know."

"With the new of Ser Jaime's situation, I thought the Queen…" shuttered the old Maester, "well she might be very distressed by her brother's… situation."

"He had been taken prisoner by Robb Stark Maester, you can say it." Said Lod Baelish quite impatiently.

Was he nervous? The situation was quickly spiraling for sure. But a man like Baelish, so… close to his ladder, would certainly rejoice to such a situation. Such chaos.

The news of Ser Jaime's situation certainly didn't help their present situation. Having The Stark girls into custody was giving the crown an advantage in the conflict against the North. Now that they have Ser Jaime things didn't seem so clear. The Kingslayer was the golden lion, the lone member of the Lannister family no one ever tried to attack before.

They still had the advantage, with three girls into their custody, one of which the King was supposed to marry. But the capture of Jaime Lannister still had importance for them, and consequences for the conflict.

The door slammed against the wall, allowing the Queen Mother to storm inside the room, preceded by her son whose fury seemed to radiate out of him. His purple face was puffed his eyes huge and bloodshot, all in all remarkably similar to the late King Robert on his most… sanguine moments.

"I WANT HER DEAD! I WANT HER PUNISHED! I WANT TO RIP THAT SMILE OUT OF HER STUPID FACE!" he shirked, pointing a menacing finger to the table.

"Do not trouble yourself, my love, we have plans for her. She will pay, I assure you." Cooed the Queen, her long finger gripping her son's shoulder and caressing it like one does a small animal.

They did? Varys felt himself blink slowly in confusion. Then it clicked.

Oh...

The King raged for another long moment, passing back and forth into the room, promising twenty different ways to make the Stark girls suffer. He had imagination, no one would deny that. When he finally calmed down, he pined his mother with a furious look and barked his need of an explanation.

"What is to be done to punish the Stark whore?" he growled.

Varys repressed a sigh, knowing the task of explaining the situation to their young King fell on him. He braced his long sleeves closer to himself and start talking quietly.

"Not a fortnight ago, my little birds sang me a troubling tale of a transaction made beyond the Narrow sea." He started slowly. "They sang of a foreign King and his little sister being convinced to treat with a Horse lord to gain an army and make their way back in our lands."

It took Joffrey a moment to gather the meaning of such a tale. The boy didn't inherit his grandfather's sharp mind for sure.

"Why should I be bother with Targaryen scums?!"

Oh, at least he knew whom they were talking about.

"Apparently," continued the humble spider, "the groom whom they wished is a peculiar one. The Dothraki are commonly known to be ferocious. And very religious people. They worship the earth their horses walk in and disrtust anything that could hurt their precious beasts. And the water from the Narrow sea can not be drank" he paused, for the effect and the attention, then carried on his explanation. "Khal Drogo is known to be fearless. Nothing had ever stopped this man, not even his gods. With a Targaryen princess as his bride, and a good brother lusting after your throne your grace, nothing could theoretically stop him from crossing the Narrow sea with his forty thousand men and ruin the Seven Kingdoms as they did the cities that used to compose the know Dothraki sea."

And that was putting it mildly. The tales of the mighty Khal Drogo were numerous and bad enough to send shivers down the backs of every wealthy man and woman in Essos. One of the best killers alive.

The blond boy snorted.

"And so? I don't care about barbaric fools and Targaryen scums? Are you stupid?! I said I wanted to punish those bitches! I want the Stark whore to be dealt with!"

"Shh, listen, my love," hushed the Queen, her hand softly stroking her son's hair. "This is precisely why we are telling you this. Those Targaryen's fools have given us the perfect opportunity to get rid of the Stark whore!"

"NOW! I WANT HER GONE NOW!"

" Certainly M-my Lord," babbled the old Maester, his trembling hands shaking against hi"s chains.

"I AM YOUR KING YOU OLD RAT!" shrieked the boy.

Varys had to pull off his head to avoid the boy's angry hand pointed at the Maester.

The man shacked so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

"O-o-of course y-your grace p-p-pardon me I a-am but an old man." He shuttered.

"Maybe we should dispose of you as I did with old Selmy?" threatened the boy.

"My love," hushed the Queen seemingly unbothered by her son's aggravating behavior, "we can put her on a boat tonight for Pentos. She'll be thrown at the barbarian's feet and be raped by all of his pride like the little whore she is. We will even send her her wedding meal if you want. Those beasts they call pets will certainly be good enough for savages like this. I'll order them killed before the departure."

"I apologize your grace," interrupted Lord Baelish, "but we won't be able to prepare the girl's departure before tomorrow. We have many things to see done as you well know."

The King laughed suddenly, his face lightened with a delighted smile.

"But she'll be gone! She's going to be raped by savages and their horses! She'll eat the flesh of her pets she loves so much! I will announce her! I will put her in this ship myself!" he commanded. "I will push her to her death and torture and admire the desperation on her stupid face!"

Varys watched the boy with mild interest, his thought turned to the poor lady who's fate was currently discussed. He may need to have a chat with the girl… Hopefully before her departure.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Later that day, the humble spider slowly made her way to the chambers currently holding the remaining Stark pups in the Red Keep. He had a lot of things to think of. Mainly: purposes.

Oh, this was indeed a disaster. Too many things were happening at the same time for the poor spider to be able to wrap his web around all of them. He had to make choices and put his paws in the right places.

The most pressing matter was no doubt the Stark girl and her incoming travel. He and his good friend had plans for the Targaryen children. Plans they had crafted for months before good old Robert learned the disturbing news of Princess Daenerys upcoming nuptials.

For years now they had tried to protect the last Targaryen as much as they could, and this wedding could very well be the perfect occasion for them to regain some of the power the Rebellion had cost them.

In that aspect, Robert Baratheon's death had been rather unfortunate and very ill-timed for him and his plans. That the Queen take the lead to the small council, even temporarily and suggest such an alternative for those nuptials was very unfortunate.

In that aspect, to have Lady Kyria married to a Khal would not help his plans at all. But then… maybe it could. To have someone with the Targaryen, someone from their country, someone smart enough to know how to play the game and with a good motivation to help those children… maybe he could work this at his advantage.

Besides as much as he wished she was, Princess Daenerys wasn't exactly born in Westeros, despise her Mother's best wishes and effort. She had been born in Essos while her mother and brother had already been exiled, month after the end of the Rebellion that dethroned her family. In the strict sense of the term, and despise her brother's wish and her blood, she was from Essos. Having been born and lived there for her entire life.

It nullified her status as a Westerosi Princess. And if the rumors about the mighty Khal Drogo were true, the man would not be fooled by flying words.

In that aspect, lady Kyria was the best choice. But then again, blood meant little to the Dothraki.

He could not stop the… transaction to happen, just as he couldn't force the Dothraki to make his choice. Since the orders had been given, nothing could change those facts. However... he could still mold the situation to his advantage.

Which is why, while the night was full and the keep quiet, the humble spider slowly made his way to the chamber.

He entered by one of the many passages known only to him and his little birds and was welcomed by the lovely sight of three little wolf pups cuddled around each other in a bed ready to swallow them. The oldest one eyes blinked open as soon as he put a foot inside the room.

He put his hands back inside his sleeves and waited patiently for the lady to understand what she was seeing.

Slowly, she extracted herself from the pile of Stark on the bed. Her white nightshift was thin and simple. For the sake of sensibility, she wrapped herself in a large shale, with what seemed to be rather vibrant colors.

With her wrapped in it, the thing almost looked like a blanket. Large and dwarfing her. She looked soft and vulnerable. Lost...Poor child.

He waited for her to come to him.

"Pardon my intrusion my lady, but I'm afraid time is against us on those terrible times."

"Lord Varys." She said back. "what happened?"

"I'm afraid your time in the capital will soon come to a very short end." He announced slowly.

She looked around, studying the room and the girls cuddled in the bed.

"I thought so… What had they planned for me?" she asked softly.

"I'm afraid you'll be… disposed of in an incoming boat to Pentos."

"Pentos?" she cuddles the fabric closer to her, one of her long lock obscuring her face momentarily.

"Yes, unfortunately, your little quarrel with the King in the throne room had let a very strong dislike of your rather delicate person. The King has ordered your immediate departure, and, if impossible, the subject of a solution more efficient and definitive regarding your…living conditions."

She snorted. "the little boy wants me dead."

Varys felt one of his brows go higher on his forehead.

"I assume this kind of speech had been the… amusement of the day in the throne room if I am correct."

She smiled. Changing her face into something ugly and dark and disturbing. He chose not to comment. No more than what he already did.

"I will, of course, try to assist you in any way possible. As you know Essos is… familiar to me. But I'm afraid I won't be able to do much more for you, my dear Lady."

"You've done enough already. And to be perfectly honest I wouldn't have been comfortable with my debt to you increasing even more." She said smoothly.

Ah yes, that was why this girl was so interesting. She knew how things worked. She had potential. Pushed in the right direction, she might have been what was missed in his numerous plans for the future of the Realm.

And if not, no ally was ever worthless.

"A good reasoning my lady, but unfortunately, you might need as much help as you can get. Essos is an unforgivable place for young ladies of your breeding."

"Indeed…" she rasped, dry as the wind.

Again, the humble spider felt the need to offer the comfort he could.

"I am truly sorry for all of this my lady. Do understand the deepness of my sympathies. But this game is harsh and it does no one any good to come into it unprepared."

"Don't I know that Lord Varys. A wise lesson, one my Father might have enjoyed much more with his head still on his shoulders."

…Indeed.

He said as much. She snorted another twisted smile and looked back at her sisters.

"Will you help them? To the realm of your possibilities of course."

Varys blinked. He took a moment to study her, wondering about the changes he could see inside those eyes. She was looking at the bed, with yearning and fondness, as if she was already far far away from her loved ones. Interesting.

"Weren't you being afraid of the cost of my help just then my Lady?"

"A cost I am scared to pay. But it won't be me you'll help then Lord Varys. Everyone should pay for their own bargains."

Very interesting...Tempted, he asked his question.

"My lady, if you would, indulge me for a moment."

Big doe eyes looked back at him.

"Yes?"

"I would like to offer you a little riddle of my… conception."

"A riddle? Right now? Really?" she asked doubtfully.

"I'm afraid I won't have the opportunity to do that anymore after tonight my lady."

She looked at him, suspicious.

"Why would you need to give me a riddle?"

"A way to better understand your character, my lady. And I myself am quite fond of riddles."

She took another moment to decide. Then, she took place in one of the chairs in front of the dressing glass. She looked even smaller with the fabric of her shale pooling around her on the furniture. Her long hair flowing around it like liquid fire. Or blood...

"Go on then."

"Three great men sit in a room. A King, a Priest, and a Rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bet the sellsword to kill the other two. Who lives? Who dies?"

She blinked, not expecting such a thing maybe. Varys was quite fond of this little riddle of his. It was tricky and the answer generally told him a lot about the person he asked it.

He was pleased to see her think. To his utter fascination, her gaze soon was lost in the dressing table, her mind rolling the words, studying them with great concentration. It was almost frightening, how much she seemed empty on this instant.

She batted her eyelashes prettily a couple of times and directed her razor-sharp gaze right into his eyes.

"You speak this riddle a lot, don't you? To many people."

He was taken aback for a moment. Immediately he wondered. What was she trying to do?

"I like to know how people tend to answer it. When necessary." he chose to say.

"You'll ask it again. Soon. To someone else. A small man with a tall shadow…" she said almost dreamily.

She looked away again, pensively, and Varys felt his bones froze. A disturbing suspicion growing inside him.

"It's possible my lady. But I like to concentrate on the present before I think of the future. Currently-"

"You'll help them." She said, with finality. "my sisters. You'll do it. Not as much as you could but more than you should. Maybe you'll do them the same courtesy you did me."

She looked at him again, and Varys felt the words stop on the very tip of his tongue. This conversation was spiraling out of control and he couldn't, for the life of him, understand when it stepped out of the road.

Without a word from him, the girl stood up and quietly start arranging the sheets around her sisters, covering them with great and silent care. Varys felt confused.

"I see it is pointless to insist on the subject." He said, almost hesitating.

"Power resides where men's believed it resides. A trick. Clever." She said and it sounded like a quote somehow.

His quote. Except he never told her this. His hand gripped themselves under his sleeves. Something was happening here.

She looked up again, right in his eyes. The light burning inside them reminded him of the fire and the words that plagued his thought still so many years after. She looked ethereal standing there, in her shale and little shift. Her long hair around her. Beautiful in an artistic way. Like a painting.

Beautiful and strange. And he thought of the warlock who changed his life.

It wasn't the same, but what happened here had nothing to do with normalcy.

"I know who you serve my Lord. I'll remember it." She said.

"And who do you serve, my lady?"

She didn't answer. Nor did she need to. She dropped her gaze and kept on fussing around her sisters. Varys took it as the answer it was and vanished in the shadows of the night.

The conversation kept playing in his mind for some time after that. Kyria Stark… there was something with this girl.

Opportunity.

Whatever else it was he could feel in her, Varys could recognize potential in this girl. She was clever and full of wit. And wise enough to keep it for herself. Maybe the Queen knew that too.

A shame, really, the fate that awaited her in Pentos… She could have done so much at the capital.

But then again, the Queen regent seemed just aware enough of the girl's potential to feel the need to dismiss her from the siege of power. Still, he wondered. Essos was a land of possibilities for those who knew how to play their cards. With the right escort, she could come back home one day.

Maybe with a little help from her homeland… who knows?

Work little spider work, spread your web, wide and far. And wait for the threat to tremble.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Arya**

When they woke up, the day after Kyria's rather fantastic display at court, Arya knew, immediately, that something was wrong. Worse than before.

Sansa was wrapped around her like it was every night now, and the smell of her hair tingled her nose, making her want to sneeze. To think that last year that same smell of roses and lemon was one of her tools to mock her perfect sister. Now with everything else, it gives her comfort and reminded her of home. Something she felt like she really needed after… After everything.

Kyria was up.

It happened often for Kyria to be awake while they still slept. But she never left the bed before they were all up. Something was different.

Her eyes blinked open. Kyria was up yes. Standing still in front of the large window. Her back facing the bed. That long ugly shale of hers wrapped around her. One tip pooling at her feet, the bright green color even brighter with the white of her shift. She was looking at the sea.

Slowly, she tried to stand up, one hand already on her throat, ready to make it work this time.

"K-"

She cough. Another failure.

Immediately, Kyria turned around and poured a large cup of water. She then sat on the bed behind Arya and gave her the cup.

"Shhh" she hushed softly, her delicate hand stroking Arya's hair, "don't talk darling. You know you need to spare your throat for a couple of more days if you want to heal."

Arya tried to protest, but just like those past days, her voice didn't agree with her thought. Since the day they killed her father, she could barely talk. Kyria said it was because of how much she had screamed when it happened. And she knew she had screamed a lot that day. She remembered feeling like it lasted for hours. She hadn't be able to stop herself, nor her voice for coming out.

It was slowly getting better, but for her, the entire process was too slow. She never noticed before how much she could talk in a day. And every time she tried to throat some words, it hurt like hell, and all the progress she felt she made was reversing to square one.

She slowly drank the mercifully cold water while her sister kept stroking her hair. A part of Arya wished to shoo her away, to claim she was no baby, that she didn't need to be brood like a fragile little thing. But they had killed Father, and they were alone in this city with no one no Mother, no Robb or Bran or Rickon and they had their wolves and-

"Shhh" said Kyria again. "Arya, shhh…"

Fresh tears rolled out of her cheeks, and she swallowed a strangled sob, the memory of the blood-

"Shh, it's alright darling, let it out. I know, I know it hurt, I-" her voice broke too and Arya's hair felt damp where her sister's cheek was touching them, " I miss him too…"

They stayed like that for a while. Sansa woke up at some point, her eyes red and puffy, like almost every morning. Sansa cried herself to sleep more often than not. She rolled herself in a tiny ball and pillowed her head against Kyria's knee.

They stayed together, wrapped like that, with Kyria's enormous shale slowly crawling around them like a blanket. She hated this thing. Kyria had bought it in one of the markets she went to visit with Sansa right before Father's... It was ugly and useless and so full of embroidery it would have been better set on a wall somewhere. But Kyria spend a lot of time wrapped in it these days.

After a time, half an hour maybe, Arya's eyes dried out, as did Sansa's and Kyria's. They stayed in silence, watching the sun slowly going up.

"They're going to send me away." Confessed Kyria with the sweetest voice.

Arya's head turned so fast her neck cracked rather painfully. Sansa straightened her face twisted with anguish.

"What? What are you talking about?" asked Sansa.

"Ky-"rasped Arya.

" Someone came to me last night. An ally… of a sort." She explained slowly. "He told me of the Queen's plans for me. They are going to sell me to Essos, to some Warlord or merchant that could benefit them."

"But- You said it couldn't be worse!" whined Sansa.

"I was wrong. I was foolish." She said bitterly, "with those people it can always be worse."

She pressed their shoulders suddenly, her eyes hard and serious.

"Listen to me, both of you. With me gone you'll be alone in this city. I don't know for how long."

"W-what-" started Sansa.

"Kyria-"rasped Arya.

She pressed harder on their bones.

"Listen to me, I made a mistake in the throne room. Since the day we left home I tried to look as dumb, weak, and pliable as I could. So, they could not see me as a threat. But I didn't do a good job at it. Not at all." She looked in Sansa's eyes, then Arya, "you need to do better than me, do you understand? You need to give them what they want to see. Even if it's not true, you need to be what they want you to be."

"What are you talking about?"

"The weaker you are the safer you'll be. Do you understand me? It's not just physically, your mind must look weak too."

"M-mind?" tried Arya, frustrated beyond reason.

Oh, how she wished she could talk! This broken voice was a nightmare! And Kyria with her cryptic words and odd behavior was not helping at all! What was that now? Leaving? Being sold? There were so many things in this she didn't get it wasn't even funny. Why did she need to appear so smart? Stupid.

Everyone knew Kyria was smart. No big deal! But what use could it have if she keep talking like a freaking walking riddle!

Her big sister breathes by her nose, and held Sansa's chin with delicate fingers.

"With me gone, you'll be the oldest Sansa. Do you know what that means?"

The girl shakes her head, tears quickly filling up her pretty eyes. Arya knew though. She was going to ask Sansa to take care of her or something like that. Which was stupid. Arya would take care of her sister, it was her role. She was the fighter. Sansa was the pretty princess that needed to be rescued. Why was Sansa the one who get those advice? What was even those advice?

"I- I should- I should protect-"

"You will need to think about both of you. Not just you. When the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf die but the pack survives."

Sansa nodded tears in her eyes.

"Do you understand?"

"We- you said we only had each other-" sobbed the redhead. "You said we needed to protect each other here and that we should- we should- we should be smart about what we say and did-"

"Aye I said that." Nodded Kyria.

"But you- you- you were not smart when you talked to the King yesterday. You were angry and you angered him and you- you were not smart about it."

"Was I?"

"No Kyria you were not! You angered him and you did it intentionally! He is the King! He can do as he pleased and he- And you did it purposely! Why would you do that? I told you- I told you about-"

"About Ser Meryn slapping you silly for the little boy's amusement." She said bluntly.

Sansa slapped her shoulder.

"You said we couldn't talk like that! You said walls had ears!"

"They do." She said again. "And tell me, why would I talk like that if I knew that?"

"I don't know! Why would you!"

"Think Sansa. I know you are smarter than you look. Think."

"I don't know! I don't know!" she cried in distress.

"Because he's a little boy!" she groaned. Right on Sansa's face. "He has no power without fear. He is a little boy that enjoys other's suffering. I didn't give him that. I show no fear and I bite back when he tried to break me. That what it is. It was as to how, just like everything else here! He couldn't kill me, not so soon after Father. As mad as he is, he couldn't. That's the only reason why I did it."

"But- You said-"

"I know what I said Sansa!" she stood up, pushing away both her sisters.

Arya bites her lips, annoyed at both of them and at her inability to talk. Annoyed at Sansa for whining and crying while Kyria obviously tried to say something, to explain why she was so stupid yesterday. Annoyed at Kyria for being stupid to begin with. Annoyed at her own stupid voice and throat who just couldn't work!

"This is what I am talking about. You need to be smart. To twist yourself so they see what you want them to see. It's a game! A game of manipulations and appearances. It's all about showing your hand at the right time. And-"

"Oh enough with this!" cut Sansa standing out of the bed and away from Kyria.

"It's all you're always doing! You talked and make those grand speech about being smart and playing the game and I don't know what else! And I'm sick of it! I don't care about their games and their politics and who is good at it or not! I don't care! You're saying you're going to leave! You'll leave us alone in this blasted place! And I don't want you to go! I want to go home with you and Arya and Nymerya and Frost and Lady! I want Robb to come here and take us all home!" she sobbed frustration and anger burning in each word.

"It's not about what you want Sansa. It's about surviving! You need to be smart and to think and to survive so that we can all be back home someday! You'll be alone here! And no one will help you but yourselves! No one else!"

"Stop it! Enough! I don't want your lessons! You're always giving us lessons and you're talking and talking and showing how smart you are and how much you think about everything! Just Stop! I don't want your counsels, I don't want any of it!"

"What do you want me to do then Sansa!" cried back Kyria.

Oh how she wished she could talk!

"I want you to stop thinking your smarter than everyone else! I want you to stop talking to us like we are too stupid to understand what is happening around here! I want you to stop being so cryptic and- and I don't want to hear about this stupid game!"

I'm sorry sister but it won't stop. You're in the middle of it and it will not stop because you want it to. And they won't send us home because we ask nicely. This is a war. We are prisoners. Hostages. Disposable if necessary."

"Stop! Stop talking like this! I don't want to hear it! I don't!"

Surprisingly she stopped. Arya looked at her, expecting another endless tirade about how dangerous this was how important it was for them to be smart and blablabla. But Kyria just shacked her head and dropped she shale. She went on her stuff, intending to dress up and get ready for another awful day. Her long hair was painfully tangled around her and once again, Arya wondered why she was bothering with that hair. They were too long and annoying.

Sansa sobbed some more time and Kyria dressed silently. And Arya stayed on the bed, silently fuming on her situation and how much she missed talking. And needle. She wished she had Needle with her.

When she finally prepared herself, it was quick. She only had two dresses for herself since they had put them in those chambers. The Queen and her minions had taken everything that could remind them of Winterfell and the North. Leaving only things southern looking. Arya's things had came from the north with the exception of the two annoying dresses Sansa had made for her.

Sansa had more dresses, as she had made more things similar than southern fashion. Kyria had a couple of more things too, but all their furs and other stuff were gone.

Once dressed they sat up in different places around the single room and waited.

Honestly, Arya was not sure what they were waiting for. It was frustrating. Why couldn't they try to think of a way to keep Kyria here? Or for the three of them to escape this place? She had tried already but with them three she was sure they could have done it.

But no one was moving. And with her stupid throat, she could not even try to talk her sisters through the beginning of an escape. It was just so frustrating!

So with nothing else to do, she drank her water. At least she could try to heal a bit. Kyria had said honey would have helped but they barely gave them food twice a day and rarely for more than one person, so she didn't really think the healing of her throat was a part of their priorities. Sometimes Arya wondered if they wanted to starve them on top of everything else. Of if they just… forgot?

Couldn't say. Didn't really care right now. Too much was happening around the place for her mind to process all of it.

After hours of silent waiting, three redcloaks opened their door and stood around it. The clicking of their armors breaking the heavy silence of the room. Then, in the middle of them, came the Queen in the brightest red dress Arya had ever seen, her golden hair freely floating around her face. Arya wanted to sneer at her. But she didn't spare her even a glance. Her feline eyes found Kyria almost immediately.

Arya took a step closer to her.

"Do you know what will happen now little girl?" asked Cersei with a soft voice.

"I don't your grace." Answered Kyria calmly.

Lie. She said someone told him about their plan. Arya's back chilled at the thought. Was she there to send Kyria away? Or to kill her?

The though ran chill on her. SHe couldn't. She couldn't do that couldn't she? Kyria was important, an hostage. It would be stupid to kill her.

But the Queen was stupid... No. No she couldn't.

"No of course you don't." smiled the Queen.

She paused, watching smugly at each of them. Her eyes slowly evaluating them. Arya wanted to burst those eyes with her fingers. To ruin that face and destroy everything that woman had. SHe hated her. She hated her like she never hated anyone before.

"You made quite an impression to the court." She started. " I suppose you must feel very clever. Angering my son in such a way."

"Not really." Said Kyria.

She looked like she wanted to say something else but somehow kept quiet. Sansa stood closer to Arya, so much she felt the need to look up for her sister's blue eyes. She looked worried.

"Of course. Nothing is ever done with ill intentions with your folk." Observed the Queen, slowly passing in front of the dressing table. She picked up a hairbrush and looked at it curiously. Arya recognized it as Sansa's. "The Honorable Starks. You are known to do the right thing. Always the right thing. Like when your treacherous Father attacked my brother in a street of our city. Or when your treacherous Mother kidnapped my other brother in a tavern, like some baseborn bandit."

Arya's blood pulsed through her brain, blinding her vision for a moment. Her throat let out a grumble that sounded like something Nymeria would have done. How dare she. This- this bitch! Say something like that about their parent!

The Queen ignored them entirely, both her and Sansa. Her eyes were glued to Kyria, whose tensed back seemed to grow stiffer with each breath.

"The King had decided on your fate little girl. You proved yesterday how unfitted you were for our court. You behaved like a savage. We can not allow such a thing around the King."

"Of course not. One beast is enough." Purred Kyria.

Sansa squeaked. Arya almost barked.

The Queen's eyes steeled. Her face twisted in burning rage as her fingers pressed against the brush. But then, she seemed to calm down and smiled again. Arya's blood ran cold in her veins.

"You think yourself so clever… Yet you talk with such disrespect of the most powerful man in All the Seven Kingdoms… He is the King girl, he can do whatever he pleases with you. And he will." She put the brush down and grabbed Kyria's face between her long bagged fingers. "In one hour you will be in a boat to Essos where you have been sold to a Horselord to prevent the wedding of Daenerys Targaryen and the potential threat of her and her beggar brother coming back in our lands and trying to steal what is my son's birthright."

"WHAT?" rasped Arya, unable to stop herself.

Her throat protested and almost immediately she as lost in a fit of coughing that shacked her entire body. The taste of blood was strong in her mouth. Sansa's cool hands were soon around her, holding her steady and helping her drink her water.

Horselords? The Dothraki? No! She couldn't go there! The Dothraki were like Wildling! Worse even for they had no wall to keep them in check! Kyria couldn't go there! She couldn't!

The Queen barely spare her a glance. She forced Kyria to look at her as she continued.

"You will be escorted by ten of our redcloaks whose work will be to ensure you do your duty to the crown. You will Marry the savage and let him fuck you like the little wolf bitch you are. And you will do everything you can to ensure he never crossed the Narrow Sea. Am I clear, little girl?"

"Are you that scared of me your grace, to force me so far away from your court?" sneered back Kyria.

Cersei's mouth twisted and her nails pushed the tender skin of Arya's sister's cheeks, almost piercing it.

"Do not be foolish, little girl. You are flowered, and now that your treacherous Father is dead it's up to the King to decide of your future, as a ward of the crown. And he had decided that for the good of the realm you will play the perfect whore to a Savage in Essos to stop Targaryen scum from usurping the throne. And you will do as we say, little girl. One wrong move and the redcloaks will have your head. Just like my son had your father's."

Kyria didn't answer, and after a moment, while Arya's cough finally stopped, the Queen dropped the girl's face and took a step back. She looked at them again, satisfaction shining through her eyes.

"Oh," she added after a moment of silence, "one last thing. Your pets will be served as your wedding feast. I ordered my men to bring back their heads for our walls. They will fit nicely next to your father's head."

"WHAT?! NO!" rasped Arya.

"Your Grace!" sobbed Sansa immediately.

"You won't touch them! Never!" growled Kyria.

The Queen ignored them all. With one gest of her hand, she ordered her lackey to take Kyria and ask for handmaidens to pack her belongings. Kyria fought against the armored men, threatening Cersei to make her pay if one hair was found out of place in the wolves' fur, but she ignored it.

Arya screamed again, forgetting her throat and tried to reach the Queens, hands first ready to nail those fucking eyes right out of their socket. Sansa's cries were useless in the back grown as was her attempt to stop the men to move around the room.

All of it was pointless and before long the door closed again to their screams, taking the Queen the redcloaks and Kyria with them. Her sister's voice resonated in the corridors on the other side of the door for a long moment after. But in the end, it faded too.

"They can't do that! They can't! Frost and Nymeria and Lady, they didn't do anything wrong! They're good!" raged Sansa, her delicate hands trying to open the door.

Arya kept banging against it, hoping beyond hope for the blasted thing to finally open and allow them to go save their wolves.

But the door remained closed. And no one came.

When the night started to fall that evening, Sansa and Arya had left the door and were desperately grabbing the window, their eyes watching the boats who slowly left the port of Kingslanding. Knowing that in one of them, was their sister. And the corpses of their beloved companions.

"That's not fair!" sobbed Sansa, "that's not fair."

Arya nodded, her mouth open to a scream that didn't come.

Hours later, when sleep finally claimed both of them, the night light found the two Stark sisters wrapped around one another, hidden under the large shale that had covered their sister, just the night before.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> I know, I know, again with a horrible chapter... And I'm sorry about it! But be brave folks it's almost over now! Only two remaining chapters plus an epilogue before we finish this book! I'm so excited!  
> So this is basically me realizing I needed to put in place the rest of the story if I wanted all of it to make sense in the end with the second book and everything else xD So there is a lot of plotting and foreshadowing and explaining in one chapter xD  
> He's also very long. But it's a combination of the second part of the last chapter I had to remove for the sake of continuity and another one who was supposed to happen later. I decided to concentrate them both into one single chapter so we could go on with the rest. Some of you said to me you found I took too much time in my story with a lot of talking and not as much action as I could have put. So I try to change that a bit.  
> I am very proud of the scene between Varys and Kyria. It was a last-minute thought and I like it a lot. For those who wandered, yes she had a vision en she says the last bit, after the riddle.  
> Anyway, what do you think? Good? Bad? Awful?  
> I wait for your opinion!  
> Like always thank you a lot for your support and for enjoying this story, I hope you'll like it 'till the end and I will see you next time!  
> Bubyyye!


	21. Chapter 21: The King in the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... Really? Do I need to say anything?

**Chapter 21: The King in the North**

**Year 298 AC Tenth Month**

**The Stark Army's War Camp, Riverrun**

**Catelyn**

… _I am deeply sorry, dear Cat to be the one who has to deliver such terrible news. Know that my wishes are for you and your family…_

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. Words were mud on the parchment. And she couldn't breathe.

No.

No. This must have been a mistake. This couldn't be happening. This was a mistake. A cruel joke Petyr put on her for obscure reasons. It could not be real.

Ned. Her Ned. Her husband-

No. No, no this could not happen to her. It couldn't. Not to Ned, not to their family. There was no way, no universe where this could happen.

Why would the gods punish her in such a way? Why would they persist in taking every Stark man she had the misfortune of falling in love with? Why?

Brandon had been taken from her before they could even marry. And now after everything, every hardship, every obstacle they went through, now they took Ned too?!

No, no this couldn't do. It could not go that way. It-

There was no way for the gods to be so cruel! They couldn't do that to them without reason! She refused to believe this happened without reason. The gods she worshiped her whole life could not be so cruel.

Her mind was a mess. The words still blurred on the paper, but she couldn't care less. Everything was falling apart around her. She knew part of her knew what was implied behind those simple little words.

Ned was dead. Beheaded by Joffrey Baratheon's command in front of the entire city of Kingslanding. Her Ned. Her Husband. Dead.

This couldn't be. Not her Ned.

But it was. Petyr would not lie to her about this. He was not a cruel man.

And to think he promised her he would protect her Ned. Her Ned…

Oh, this couldn't-

No, she needed to- she needed to-

Robb.

Oh, Robb. Oh, gods Robb. She needed to tell Robb.

Robb who started a war for his Father…oh how could she do that to him.

How could she do this… But she had too. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't stay here and bask in her own misery. Robb needed the truth.

They needed to think of what to do next. How to make those Lannister pay for what they had dared do to their family. How to retake her little girls.

Oh, the girls… She could not even begin to imagine what it must have been for her poor girls. To learn of their father's execution. To be left alone in this dreadful place.

With shaking hand and wooing legs, Lady Catelyn Stark of House Tully slowly stood up, her face twisted in anguish. She took a moment longer to gain a semblance of control over her emotions. All of it was raw and painful and she only wished for a safe place to let go of all the tears that pained her eyes. But she couldn't do that. Her boy, her son needed her. Now more than ever.

With one last breath, she straightened her back, and exit her tent to her son's.

Once there, she took a minute to contemplate her growing boy. How far he would go, how strong and fierce he already was. He was growing a bit more each day. More mature, more adult, more like- like-

Oh, she remembered the very first time she saw his little face. All red and puffed and screaming to the whole world his discomfort. Her little baby. Her pride and joy.

And now she was about to broke his heart.

_It wasn't fair. It was_ _**not fair** _ _!_

"Mother?"

She blinked and he was looking at her, his face twisted in concentration, the map of Westeros displayed in front of him and his men.

He must have notice something in her posture, for soon his face changed for worry.

"What is it?" he pressed fearfully.

She opened her mouth but the words did not come. Her eyes traveled to the faces around her son. All loyal Lords devoted to her Ned. All of this for him, to save him, to defend him and their name. And it was her duty to tell them of the terrible news.

"Lady Stark!" gruffed Lord Umber.

"My Lords- I beg your pardon but I need to talk with my son." She said, taking a step forward.

"But of course Lady Stark!" boomed the large lord.

He stood and with large movements of his hands guided the other men outside the tent. Cat waited patiently for them all to be outside. She couldn't look at any of them. She had trouble looking at her son.

"Mother what happened?" he asked again.

She took another step.

"Robb-" she started, her voice trembling with repressed emotions. "Robb I need to tell you something."

"What? Tell me, Mother, you are worrying me."

"It's about your Father Robb."

He blinked and look at her, waiting for the rest. But she couldn't bring herself to finish her sentence.

"Mother-"

"Your Father-" she said again, "Your father had been-"

"Mother please, tell me."

"Your Father is- He had been- Robb I'm so sorry…" she said finally her eyes hot with tears.

She had not need to say more. Robb sat back on his chair, slowly, his eyes lost and confused. He blinked and look at her.

"W-what do you mean?" he asked finally after a long moment of painful silence. "What does it mean Mother?!"

"Robb-"

"It can't be- He was- They- They killed my Father?!" he roared finally, bumping his fist against the table.

She had to stop herself. The urge to sob was so great. She had to stop.

"They killed my Father?!" he said again, louder.

Distantly, Catelyn could hear rumbles of voices echoing her son's cries, but she couldn't gather herself to hear them. Her child was hurt. It was all that mattered for her right now.

He raged in silence. It was the most surprising for Catelyn. How silent he was suddenly. She knew her boy, how he worked, how he dealt with his emotions. Never before had he raged in this silent fuming. He reminded her of his sister. Kyria did that too. Before her fall, when she was still her innocent little girl, without the nightmares and the look, old beyond her years she wore sometimes. She used to stay angry for days. Silently. Where Arya was explosive and Sansa dramatic, she was silent, only glaring at anyone and anything until someone confronted her for it. She exploded then. Bursting right at the face of the poor soul who would be left alone to deal with it all.

Robb had never done that before. He was quick in anger, the Wolf blood they call it in Winterfell. A Stark trait. Seeing him now, in his silent fury, was almost frightening.

"Robb-"

"They did that then…" he said slowly. "They killed my father…"

"Robb, I know this is a lot but-"

"The girls." He said. " What do we know about the girls?"

"I- we- Petyr hadn't mentioned-"

"Petyr? Baelish?! Your confident is Baelish?! The same Baelish that made you kidnap Tyrion Lannister and start this whole mess?! That Baelish?! And you still trust him?"

"Robb! Now is not the time to talk about those things! We have more important matters to discuss than this silly conversation and-"

"Silly conversation? You started a war! And now my Father is dead because of it! My sisters are prisoners in Kingslanding and my little brothers are alone at Winterfell while you enjoy yourself playing the seasoned commander of whatever battle you think you have won! I think this is the perfect time to talk about this!" he boomed.

Catelyn took a step back, shocked beyond herself of her son's outburst. How could he talk like that? She was his mother! She understood his pain and anger. She was angry too. Those Lannister were taking apart her family right in front of her and nothing could anger her more than the idea of her children hurt by those monsters. But this was no reason to talk to her like that.

"Robb, I understand your anger but-"

"Aye I am angry Mother. I had to call my banners, to cross that blasted bridge, to promise myself to that Vulture's daughter and to send two thousand men to certain death! All of this for what? To free your home from an Army you put here with your actions instead of rushing to the capital to save our family! Aye I am angry!

"Robb- those men didn't die! Not all of them your strategy-"

"It doesn't matter!" he cut her harsh and more furiously than ever before. "It doesn't matter if they were two thousand or two hundred to die, they died! Because of a plan I had to make to get through Tywin Lannister to free the Riverlords! And my uncle and grandfather! Something I didn't need to do had you stopped in your quest of justice just one moment and thought about what you were doing!"

Catelyn felt her eyes burn with hurt and tears. He was blaming her! Her own flesh and blood! Blaming her for his father! How could he think such a thing! Her family was the most important thing in the world for her and defending it was her priority! It had always been that way and will continue as long as she has breath in her lungs!

To hear him say such things… accuse her of being the reason of her family's misfortune. It hurt more than anything else ever did. She fought her tears and the crush of her heart, not willing to let herself go in front of her child. He was in pain too. This was the reason why he was saying all those things. It couldn't be anything else but that.

"I need to think." Gruffed Robb, already halfway out of the tent.

Soon, Cat was alone, her thought was painful inside her head. Full and confused. She took a sit in front of the table, blind to the figures dispatched around the map, positions of the different parties of Robb armies, his plans, and enemies.

Her entire world was falling apart. All around her. And she had no idea how to deal with it. Never before had she felt such a pain. Not when her mother died, so long ago now she barely remembered sometimes, not when she learned of Brandon's death at Kingslanding, when she was young and foolish and thought her life was over. Not when Ned brought back the bastard safely cuddled in the crook of his arm. Not when he left her again, for Robert's war against the Greyjoy. Not when Kyria fell and lost her memories, where for days she feared her darling girl was lost to her. Not when Bran ended up burned and she was left again worrying for days if one of her precious children would be ripped off her side.

Nothing in the numerous days of pain and suffering she endured all her life was comparable to her pain right now. Nothing.

Why?

Why would the gods punish her in such a way?!

She was always true to her faith, to them. She always did her duty, to her family, to her name and statue. Why was she punished? After everything…

The gods were just. The gods were hard but merciful to those who served them. She knew it. The gods had rewarded her for her faith and truth, with each child born from her. Each one a gift from her gods, a proof that what she did was good and just. Thar she was in the right path.

Catelyn Stark had always prided herself of being a woman of strong beliefs. Everything happened for a reason. The good or the bad. So, if the bad happened to her and her family there must be a reason.

The Lannisters were to blame of course, for they started the whole thing. But they couldn't be the only ones. Why would the gods reward such a family? So full of sins and so greedy in their thirst for power. So unworthy of the love of the Seven, of their mercy and their protection. They couldn't look out for such a disgusting family.

But even if they did, it could not be the only reason why.

In the midst of her pain, Catelyn thought of the Bastard. Jon Snow. And that night, so long ago, his little breath so slow and painful to hear. She remembered her shame, the horror that inhabited her when she realized what her foolish prayers would have done to an innocent little boy. How she could have condemned him. She remembered her determination. This promise she made the gods. This vow she took that saved his life.

She remembered how fast she put it away, out of her mind. Her anger was still so pure. So hot in her flesh. How dark it was then, how dark it was still. Burning and burning, deep inside her. Her failure. This anger had been her failure. Her shame. She couldn't do it. She never has been able to do it. She couldn't love this child.

Was it her punishment? For breaking her promise. For wanting the death of a motherless child?

She couldn't face it. The truth behind Robb's words. She was to blame. She was to blame for all of it.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

After a while, she found Robb in the woods, outside of the camp. The sound of his sword clashing the tree still resonated inside her head. The sound of his cries. His pain. He had refused her arms. Even though she had yearned to hold him, her poor boy. He had stood, tall and straight, fire burning in his eyes and the sun lightening his silhouette. Like a knight in a song. It made her think of Sansa and then it was her tears she wiped of instead of his.

Sansa… her sweet little girl. And Arya and Kyria. Her girls. The three of them. Prisoners to those monsters…

"They have your sisters." She had said then.

Robb had looked at her. The muscle of his jaw working.

"Aye. They have." He nodded. "And I will take them back. I will take them back and kill that little prick right on his ugly chair."

Catelyn had smiled then. Tears close to her eyes.

The following morning, the army was marching again. Robb in front of it. Catelyn was in the middle of it all, surrounded by Stark men. Riding to a war. Petyr words burned inside her mind, fresh like she just read them.

Ned…

She thought of going home after that. To Winterfell. To her babies, who might need of her. She hesitated a long time when one of those brave men came to her to tell her of her son's decision to leave. But Robb was about to fight a war. He had fought a battle already. He had won, yes, but it didn't mean he would win every time. The Whispering woods had been a horror to leave for her. Staying up in this horse for hours. Waiting for them to come back. Waiting for the fate of her son. To know finally if he lived or died. No mother should ever live such a thing.

To see him reappear, unharmed and victorious…She couldn't remember a moment where she felt happier in the past months.

To Have him come with a freshly captured Jaime Lannister… She had been so proud then. So proud of her boy.

But the wait… She couldn't deny how useless she was out there, while her son was fighting for their family. Just as she couldn't deny that the idea of going back home to her other children was tempting. Her Bran most of all. With everything that happened she barely had the time to ask for news about him. She knew of the pain of course. She knew of her son's determination to walk as far as he could day after day despises his leg and everything else.

She was proud of her little boy. So young, so brave. She was so proud of him and it pained her to be away from him in such a way. In a time like this even… But could she really in good conscience abandon her oldest son who was about to risk his life, not only on the battlefield but South, where politics and intrigue were all that mattered? Could she let him stagger and fall and stumble surrounded by the snake that sneaked in the grass in such lands? Where there was no snow to repel them, no wind to blow them away like she learned it did back North.

She had grown up in such a place. Even safe in her father keep, she had always known, from as far as she could remember, the dangers of politics, of court, and those who wished to play the game. Her Robb didn't know any of that. He was brave and loyal and good just like his father. And his father had been killed by the snakes in the grass. She couldn't let him fight this alone. She knew a way of surviving in those lands he had no idea of.

She knew how this game was played.

In the end, she knew there was no decision to take. No choice to make. For it had been made for her. She couldn't abandon him. She couldn't let those damned Lannister trick her boy into their tortured games of power. She couldn't protect him on the battlefield, but she could do it out of it. Where there was other weapon than a sword or a bow.

Maester Luwin was more than capable of taking care of the children. Of her Bran and Rickon. Besides he could help Bran in way she couldn't. No one would be there for Robb with her gone.

She would not abandon her son.

She told him so the following evening. She did not expect his reaction.

"It is not your place Mother." He said strongly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it means. You are my Mother and I respect you. But it is not your place to make those decisions. Not here."

"Robb you are young and-"

"And as long as you'll be here I will be seen as nothing else but a boy playing at war while his mother watches over him!"

What?

"Father is dead." He said grimly. "I am Lord of Winterfell now, Warden of the North. And I called the banners to lead the war against the Lannister. I can not be seen as a boy. You can not cuddle me or hide me behind your skirt Mother."

"This is not about that Robb I know how things work here! I know politics and-"

"And you think I don't? Do you think I don't know I will have to play their games here? Who do you take me for Mother?" he said, looking insulted.

Catelyn didn't get it. Why would he felt such a way? It did not make any kind of sense. Of course, he couldn't know she never taught him. Who could have taught him if not her? How could he know?

"How could you know? You grew up in the North! The politics there have nothing to do with how things work down here." She explained impatiently.

Why couldn't he understand?

"I know that."

"No, you-"

"Mother!" he cut her sternly. "I know what to expect from the South. I have been raised to be Warden of the North, that makes me part of the politics ruling the Seven Kingdoms," he said slowly. " Father- Father taught me my whole life, prepared me for that! For this role. I spend days, weeks, locked up in Winterfell's library to prepare myself. For politics, for war, for everything I could put my hands on!"

"I understand that Robb, but reading, or being taught something is different than leaving it. Experiencing it."

"I am no child Mother!" he boomed. "You can not treat me like a child and expect from me to lead an army! I do not need you here. Not like Bran and Rikon need you."

"Robb-"

"I said my part, Mother." He cut her again. "I said it when you joined us, I said it when we reached the Twins, I said it again when we freed Riverrun. Your place is at Winterfell, with Bran and Rikon. I promised to send you there would I cross you on the road. I will not be made a liar by my own Mother."

Catelyn felt the rage burn her lungs. The frustration, the anger. How could he be so blind? So proud not to see the dangers he was slowly going in? How could he let his- his- foolishness cloud his judgment? He was but a child still! Green as the grass of fresh rained Spring fields.

Stubborn child!

"We will talk about this Robb Stark." He threatened, her cheeks warm with all her emotions bubbling inside her.

"We have talked Mother. I won't be moved further." He answered.

She left his tent, knowing quite well that nothing would move him. He was so much like his Father… How many times had she stormed out of her Ned's solar after another endless discussion about the bastard? How many times had they argued about one thing or another? How many times did she have to abandon the talk, knowing she couldn't win?

Stubborn Starks. The lot of them. She should have expected it, she thought later. All of her children were stubborn. Even her sweet Sansa. Of course, he would want to prove himself. Her boy. Even if she didn't want to admit it, to herself or anyone else, he was growing. Sooner or later he was going to become the man he was always supposed to be. There was nothing she could do about that. She couldn't protect him from adulthood.

That night, she hoped to think about all of this, their discussion, what she planned to do about this war…

But the Lords decided otherwise.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Robb**

He was in the middle of his army, surrounded by Northern Lords and the few Riverlords just freed with the break of the siege of Riverrrun. They were dining, all gathered in the courtyard of Riverrrun, with the sound of the rivers on their back. It felt strange, how such a place could feel so peaceful to him. He was of the North, he grew up there and up till now, it had been all he ever knew. But there was something calming about this place.

Maybe it was because he was born there. It was hard to picture it sometimes. The Rebellion, Father fighting a war. His Mother waiting for him day after day, her belly growing slowly with him. Now that he had seen the place, he could picture it. And at the same time, it felt like another world. Like it happened to other people.

Everything felt numb and confusing and-

And Father was dead. His Father…

He felt numb. He couldn't think about it. He couldn't grieve him now. Not in the middle of this night and not while all those lords were gathered around him, feasting on their recent victory.

The Whispering Woods… The Green Fork…

It had been such a day… The Plan had been hard to make, harder than what he expected first. He had needed to be smart, and quick about this. He couldn't just throw his armies into Tywin Lannister and hope for the best.

Even with the twenty thousand men at his back, he was no match with the Lannister and their almost 50 thousand. And Tywin Lannister was a seasoned Warrior. He would have been foolish to meet him in an open field while his army was at its prime. Instead, he locked himself up with several of his Lords and they talked.

It didn't take long for them to realize their need to lure the old lion if they wanted to accomplish anything. They had to make him think he was going to go to him while he would instead reach Riverrrun and Jaime Lannister. Even though the Kingslayer was known to be almost as good as his Father, or at least, would be with a couple of more years under his belt, Robb still preferred to confront him.

The thing was, even if his army was of a rather decent size, every life mattered. He needed to take care of that and to think carefully of what he could do to prevent the almost inevitable carnage that would result in his slowly forming strategy.

Then he thought of Kyria and her books, and their discussions in the Godswood, all three of them learning precious lessons at their father's feet.

He remembered that day when Kyria had talked about war and the different ways to make it. Humankind seemed very gifted in the way of killing its own. They talked of the North, the South, of Dorne and the Rhoynar, of Aegon and his conquest, and, after a time, of Essos and its different warriors. He couldn't say why but his brain stopped on one type of fighter, and one story.

The century of blood and the ascension of the Dothraki people over the cities left after the Doom of Valerya. How it was told they were so skilled on their horses, they could charge, then retreat only to charge again. Like an endless see of steel and blood. Unstoppable. And deadly. Only the Unsullied succeed in stopping the carnage.

It made him think. They had no Dothraki of course, but several houses in the North were known for their cavalry. The Ryswell for example, or some of the Manderly, to only think of some. So he planned. With the precious help of Lord Manderly, he united 2 thousand horsed warriors, and informed them of their mission.

It was unusual for sure, but Robb was far from being arrogant enough to think no one ever thought to use such a technique in Battle before. Nor was he truly confident with the idea. It was dangerous after all and needed to be planned wisely. So, with the help of Lord Rysell and Lord Manderly, again, he planned.

For this tactic to be efficient they needed to attack the flanks of Tywin's army. Maester Luwin often enough reminded him of how the cavalry was never fit for a frontal assault. And, even if this was inspired by the Dothraki who did it often enough, their horsemen were far from being as skilled on a horse.

So he chooses to cut his two thousand cavalries in two large groups. Each group would act as a wave crushing the Lannister before going back to hide behind the second wave and so on. 500 hundred on the right, and 500 hundred on the left. It was important for them to move. Always move. Never stop their horses or climb down from it. The horses themselves had been protected as well as they could so they wouldn't fall to the first arrow. To protect them as much as they could, Robb and Lord Manderly had mounted two thousand shields on the back of every man planned for the attack. The biggest risk with their strategy had been the archers. With shield on their back, they could maybe retreat more safely. They had done as much as they could, without damaging the plan. But even with all of this, Robb knew most of those men could not come back from it.

So he fetched four other men, whose task would be to horn the retreat as soon as the attack on Jaime Lannister was done. He needed to spare as many lives as possible. When the time was good, Robb would call Greywind for the signal, who would howl to the sky. The first men would burst the horn, and when heard, the second one, farther would do the same. And so on until the Green fork and the two thousand there.

The idea had not been well met by his lords. Most thought him naïve and optimistic for wanting to spare his men's lives.

" _This is war boy! What do you think is going to happen on the battlefield! Men dies all the time! If you can not stomach it, then go home and leave real men to fight for you!" had ranted lord Glover, his hands waving around his head to prove his point._

" _Call me boy again…" he had groaned._

_The threatening groan of Greywind on his back had made the man back up a couple of steps. Other were not that easily convinced._

" _You won't be able to do anything if you're scared of a couple of death boy!" had boomed Lord Umber._

" _And it is not because I fight a war that I must stop caring for my people! We are into this conflict for gods know how long! Every life saved is a victory to me!"_

The discussion ended up there. On the morrow, they made their move.

To everyone surprise, him included, his plan worked. Tywin Lannister was fooled by the cavalry, and Jaime Lannister by his own impatience and the darkness of the Whispering Woods. Soon, the battle was over and the Golden Lion himself chained by his feet and Greywind was howling for the retreat of the cavalry.

To see those men come back, more than half of them unharmed if not slightly wounded filled him with more pride than anything else ever did. He could have walk on clouds at the sound of the first horses galloping toward them.

Then the news came. The ravens. And his Mother.

And now, here he was, silently trying to process the death of his Father, for whom he started a war, while around him, his bannermen were discussing the said war, and what was supposed to be done now.

His Mother's raven had not been the only one arriving. Stannis Baratheon, the late King younger Brother had wrote to the entire Kingdoms, relating a tale of incest and Bastard, accusing Joffrey Baratheon to be the product of the Queen cockblocking her late husband with none other than her own twin.

The tale, scandalous on its own lightened a fire inside Robb he never knew before. Since the first time, he saw the royal family he had distrusted them. The Queen, the Prince, even the King. Kyria's dreams and her reaction when they first entered the courtyard of Winterfell hadn't help. He remembered her hand trembling against his cloak, her face, white and frozen in a painfully neutral expression. He didn't even know how she did it. But the fear behind her eyes, just an inch too large to truly look neutral was real and still vivid in his mind.

But knowing what he knew now… It was worse than anything he could have imagined. This was a mess. And now the Bastard had killed his Father.

And his sisters were locked up in this blasted city, prisoner to Cersei Lannister and her blasted offspring. He needed to free them. But he couldn't. Not like that. The North once started a war for Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark. To avenge their death. No matter how many times his mother had love to remind them that Father had fought a war for Lyanna Stark, truly it only had been once his own father and brother had been killed that the North took part in the conflict.

When Arys threatened Father too…

All to say, he could not fight a war only for his sisters. It may be enough for him, but his lords might not agree. Not all of them. It was how they worked.

He needed a purpose. He needed a reason to keep on fighting and to free the girls. But what? He was proud of his victory against the Lannister, he was happy to know how little they had lost. But it gave him very little room to act now. He had to wait for the Lannister or Joffrey to move.

His Father death could support this fight for a time. And he was quite content to keep on going in the name of his revenge. But it couldn't hold it if this war lasted too long. Which was a strong possibility.

Maybe support Stannis claim? He was the heir after all, with Robert dead with no true born son or daughter, there was no one else to inherit the crown. Whatever Renly could think.

Just as he thought about it, one of the Riverlords starts talking about Renly.

"… fealty to King Renly and road South to pledge our forces with him!"

Robb watched the man. He was passing in front of them, with a grand gesture and a strong voice. He wanted attention. Robb was in no place to speculate why, but he couldn't let him say that.

"Renly is no King." He boomed.

Immediately protestation started. No one liked Stannis Baratheon, and no one was eager to pledge for him. But…

"That does not make Renly King." He said again when the pompous Lord protested and proposed a pledge to Joffrey.

As if.

The conversation would have kept on going for hours, if not for Lord Umber, who suddenly stood, silencing everyone around him with his tall stature, and loud voice. Robb watched as the large man rejected both Stannis and Renly.

His stomach twisted suddenly as the man started ranting. He felt the world slow down around him, a strange feeling coating his belly with apprehension. What was happening… Something was happening. With every word, Lord Umber seemed to add to the atmosphere. He couldn't even crack a smile at the mention of the gods.

Every other sound was hollow to him. There was nothing. No one around him. Just this man, who now was looking at him. Solemn. Solemn and serious. His heartbeat was loud and strong. Steady. How could it be when everything else seemed to panic in his mind.

In the silence of the moment, a quiet whisper kissed his ear. Carried by the familiar voice of his sister. The last word she said to him.

_We know no King…_

The sound of the sword pulled out of its sheath didn't chase it. His eyes found Umber's, his heart carving a mark right outside his chest. So strong and powerful it could have burst right out, leaving him there, powerless and lifeless. He couldn't even wonder what was happening. To him or inside him. Nothing made sense.

"There! Sit the only King I mean to bend my knee to."

_We know no King…_

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

He stood, while Greatjon kneeled. His heart was stronger even. Faster. His mind was numb. Many things, too many to stop to only one. This was happening, this couldn't be, this could go so wrong at so many levels, how could they make this work, there were too many things to think about and Winter was coming and-

But nothing lasted in his head.

Already things were happening around him.

"Am I your brother, now and always?" asked Theon.

His eyes found him, behind the two lords already kneeling in front of him - _how could this happen why was it happening what was he supposed to do, this was so complicated suddenly_ \- he was solemn like all the others, and Robb couldn't _think_.

The words echoed inside his head. Brother. No and always. Always. _Always…_

He said it. He must have. For a second later, Theon was at his feet too.

_We know no King, but the King in the North…_

"My Sword is yours. In Victory and defeat. From this day, until my last Day."

"The King in the North!"

THE KING IN THE NORTH!

THE KING IN THE NORTH!

**THE KING IN THE NORTH**

He let it happen. As if someone else was crowned. Not him. His mind stayed numb all the way through the ceremony. As people around him kept shouting it. Louder and louder. The Lords, then the soldier, then everyone. From one side of the camp, Greywind's howl resonated into the night, joining the voices.

His heart started speeding then. His eyes searching for someone in the crowd. He didn't know who. He didn't understand.

Something clicked in his head. In the middle of the confusion that was his thought, something clicked.

She knew.

_We know no King, but the King in the North…_

**THE KING IN THE NORTH!**

… _Whose name is Stark._

She knew. Kyria knew.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He fled.

There was no other way to put it. As soon as he could do it, he fled. He hides himself in his room inside Riverrun and stayed there, against the door.

It happened.

King in the North.

How?

How could this end up this way? How could he become a King? Why? Why him?

_We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark._

Stark. He was Lord Stark now. He was supposed to inherit his father's legacy. He was his Father's legacy now.

The idea shocked him to the core. He hadn't even taken the time to mourn his father correctly, choosing instead to bury the pain inside him to concentrate on his situation and the War he had started fighting. Thinking naively that he could still do that later.

Now though… Now he felt he should have taken the time. Just so that now the news of his situation wouldn't crush him so much right now.

_We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark._

Stark. Stark. He couldn't get it out of his head. Stark. Whose name is Stark.

He was King because he was a Stark. He was leading a rebellion against the Seven Kingdoms because he was a Stark.

Of course, it had a place in all of this. It was his family who was attached. His sisters, held in Kingslanding. But it was because it concerned his family. Not because his name was Stark or bound on his honor to fight the Lannisters just for the principle of the thing.

But this. This was something else.

_We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark._

The Stark name. It was his name who just gave him a crown. How was he supposed to deal with this? He had been raised to be a Lord, to rule Winterfell before anything else. How was he supposed to be a King? To rule an entire Kingdom? No matter what they could think or tell. Ruling as Lord Paramount of the North and King is the North sounded different. Very, very different.

He remembered the anxiety he felt when he first took the mantel of Lord of Winterfell, back when Father left. How inadequate he had felt, locked up in this role everyone had destined him. Forced to wear his father's boots for the good of the family he still had at home and the keep that had been left in his care.

It had felt insurmountable. He had felt small, inadequate, childish. Useless, to carry such a burden.

It was nothing compared to this.

King in the North.

How was he supposed to be King? How was he supposed to lead people when he barely knew where he was going now?

He was lost. He was lost and alone and thrown in a place he had no idea what to do with.

_We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark._

It was all so unfair. He didn't want that, he never had.

But they didn't give him any choice… They named him. He had the title now, he couldn't go without it.

_I should have say no. I should have._

_We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark._

It sounded like a curse. Why did that have to sound like a curse?

He would have panicked for a long time, if not for the knock on his back.

"Robb?"

Mother…

_Mother!_

The door was opened before he even thought about it. His trembling hands pressed the door close, his head knocking against it.

"Robb…" she said again, her voice waiving with emotion.

Her hands were close to her mouth, trembling. He felt the muscle of his jaw work with the pressure he put to keep his mouth close.

"Oh, my boy…" she said.

She wrapped him in her arms. He let her do it, his face pushed against the crook of his mother's neck. He closed his eyes succumbing a moment to the need for familiar comfort.

It lasted a moment. A painful, wonderful moment.

Then he pulled back.

Her hands were away. And Robb found a smile. It moved something inside him.

_We know no King..._

A curse.

"I'm so proud of you my son…" she said, pushing back his curls from his forehead.

"You know?" he started, stupidly. Of course, she knew. With how ended their last conversation, there wasn't much to be proud of for her right now.

Except her son being made King.

_Cursed. Cursed name. Cursed place. He didn't want it. He didn't. He didn't want that he-_

"The entire camp know by now. The screams could have been heard all the way back to Winterfell if they had lasted longer." she said tearfully.

"All the way back to the Red Keep too…" he answered.

Her smile grew bigger. He felt numb. Why that smile? Couldn't she understand?

_Cursed, cursed, cursed name. Cursed place. Cursed time. Cursed, cursed, cursed-_

"Yes. If you Father could-" she stopped herself, realizing that, what they've heard about Father was still true.

Him being King in the North didn't change a thing for his father. Or sisters. Or family.

It only made them more complicated.

"He would have been so proud." she said finally.

Would he? Could he? Father had been close to the last King, he put him on the throne. King in the North meant rebellion. He couldn't have. He wouldn't have. Robb wasn't proud. The name meant nothing. Nothing but curse, _curse_ _He di_ _dn't want it. He didn't want any of it. Why him? Why did it have to be him? He didn't want that he-_

"Thank you, Mother." his body said.

His eyes burned. But he didn't cry.

Why?

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

On the Morrow, he came out of his room like nothing happened. Clean washed and stone-faced. The King in the North.

Immediately he went back to planning his war. What else could he do ?

He found his bannermen and locked them up with him in what he used as a War room.

Almost immediately the subject of his new Kingdom was approached. The Riverlord, who hadn't knelt the night before were now talking about doing it just so. Of course, they did.

The situation had its do and don't.

The North on its own could not last long, with Winter coming and the theory who warn them of a Winter even Longer than the Summer they had, he will need all the food he could gather for his people.

But on the other end, take one of the seven Kingdoms for himself was one thing. On its own, it was already dangerous enough. Especially with the tales of how Lannisters liked to deal with Rebellions. That this Kingdom was the North already leveled one complication. It was the largest. Half the entire territory. A very important place for the Winters to come, with its wood and its furs. It could easily save lives. They would never let go of that. Not easily.

But to take the Riverlands as well… that was another problem entirely. That would be asking for trouble. On so many levels.

First: too many fertile lands. Useful for him and his Northen Kingdom, full of snow and harsh lands. But also useful for the crown and their half million people they needed to fed in their blasted city.

Second: too close to home for comfort. If they reached the very end of the Riverlands, and Harrenhall, it put them way too close of Kingslanding and the siege of power. Too easy to come and get them if things go wrong. And, let's be honest: things were awfully wrong.

Third: that made two out of five Kingdom in open Rebellion with the crown. Two Kingdoms who already led a successful rebellion against the crown less than twenty years ago. It was too similar to the last situation for not thinking about it.

And lastly, the North coupled with the Riverlands were bigger in surface than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Too much power. Over many things.

They were never going to let that happen. Knowing what he knew about Tywin Lannister and the rest of his wonderful family -which, to be frank, was not much- he would never let that happen.

So, when his uncle announced his desire to pledge allegiance to him and declare him King, over the Trident and the Riverlands in adding to the North, Robb didn't know what to say. He knew he couldn't just say yes. Even though, like the King in the North thing, he could not really say no either. He ran fast over all the possibilities opened to him. All the complications that one wrong word could bring.

When he opened his mouth, he'd never been so scared of his own voice.

"I am touched, uncle, by your devotion to our cause, and I would gladly accept your vow, but I must ask you to consider it carefully first."

Edmure's delighted smile froze on his face.

"Your Grace?"

Robb bites back a wince. He hated that title. Really hated it.

"I do not say I would refuse your plea, my Lord," he said. Quickly. Think Robb, think. He couldn't allow himself to insult his own blood. He couldn't. But to say yes- He needed to think. Quickly. Quickly.

"I only wish to say, the North in its entirely named me King. I could not in good conscience accept less from the Riverlords."

Yes. Yes, good start.

"What do you mean your Grace?" asked Maege Mormont from a corner of the room.

"What I just said my lady. If you wish to pledge the Riverlands to me Uncle, I would accept the entire Riverlords, not just one to think for them all." He stood, his confidence growing with each word out of his mouth. He could do this. He could. "We are talking about freedom my Lords. The freedom to chose who will rule us. The North had chosen. Together. I won't accept anything less for the Riverlords, who still as we speak are half taken by the Lannisters. We will free your country Uncle, then we will talk again about pledge and Kings."

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" called someone in the back.

Others whispered it, the words floating around Robb's head like priers to a god. Robb had to stop himself from reacting in any way. His jaw stuck in one expression, his eyes set on the face of the closest Lord. Lord Glover. The last thing he wanted today was another round of calls and cries in the night.

"You want an entire Kingdom to add to the one you already have."

This quiet voice could only belong to one person. One quick look only confirmed what he already knew. Roose Bolton had taken the chair close to him. Closer than Robb had expected. Which explained why that quiet voice was so close. And sounded louder than usual. Robb took the time to look at the other Lord. Expression carefully composed.

"I want this Kingdom to be free from a war it didn't want. I won't accept a vow made unknowingly Lord Bolton. If, when this is all over, the Riverlords still want me as a King, we will discuss it. Not before."

He wasn't very hopefully. At this rate, all the Riverlords will follow the North. He didn't want it. _He didn't_ -

"You are either ambitious or naive your Grace."

Leech.

"I am careful, Lord Bolton. Taking One Kingdom from the crown is one thing. That title had been given to me and I can't change it. But to take another one, so soon after the first would he suicide. I refuse to endanger my men more than what Wartime demand."

The man didn't look convinced. Robb felt his stomach drop at the intensity of those eyes following him. He didn't like him.

Lord Karstark made a comment about their following move and Robb broke eye contact. A cold feeling running on his back. He needed to keep an eye on the guy.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Why was he even there?

He hadn't thought about it. To be honest he tried very hard not to think about anything.

One day in the War room with every single person cooing "your grace" every time he opened his mouth was more than enough for his sanity. His head was full, there was still way too many things to think about, plans to make, letters to write. Too many things, not enough time and he definitely didn't feel brave enough to think about it for more than one moment.

Part of him wanted to curl in a corner of the corridor and hide there, like a child, but he couldn't do that. He couldn't. No one needed to see him cower in a corner like a little boy.

He went for his room instead.

On the way through, he changed his mind. He couldn't say why, or what he was even thinking. He just thought about the Lannister locked up in the dungeon, and felt the need to go see him.

He knew, of course, of his Mother's theory about him. Even more so with the letter Stannis Baratheon had sent them. He wanted answers. But there was more than that.

Jaime Lannister was the only person known to Robb, who had been part of Kyria's dreams. If he excluded Bran, for the boy had been mentioned only once, and, with what happened… Well, Robb was tempted to think this prediction had been realized by now. Unfortunately.

He wanted to see the man. To talk to him. To see if somehow he could understand, or catch something in him that could explain why his sister dreamed about him.

Honestly, he could take anything if it meant understanding a bunch more all of this nonsense.

So, here he was, in the middle of a corridor, thinking this through.

"The King in the North!" mocked a voice, far in the cells.

How did he-

The corridor. With the light of the torches, he must have seen him coming.

He didn't have much choice then… With a repressed sigh and his frustration in check, Robb took the last steps to the man locked up in his cell.

He was still dirty from the battle, his face full of dirt, and slowly covered with a growing beard. His feline-like eyes followed him. He looked like a cat. A Mountain Lion or something similar.

"The King in the North!" he said again, his head bobbling right and left. His tone mocking.

"Kingslayer."

"And to what do I own the honor of such company on this fine evening?" he said.

In the darkness of the cell, those green eyes seemed brightened by the light of the torches.

Robb watched him, and he had no idea how to answer that. He didn't know what to say. How could he even start a discussion like that? 'Hello there, my sister dreamed about you, care to tell me why?'

Way to go. He was completely going to answer him.

So he babbled something else, vaguely mentioning his little brother and what happened to him. Lannister blinked slowly, his brows frowning up his eyes.

"Your brother? What is it about him? Wait, no, don't answer that. I don't care. Your family is your business boy." he snorted, bobbling his head again. Back and forth, like he had changed his mind in the middle of the move. "Which one is it again? The cripple or the baby? Or the bastard? I know you have a bastard brother. Did I killed him or something? I don't remember all of my kills you know, so many of them. Why are you blaming me for then boy?"

"Who said anything about blame?"

… Well, technically he thought about it. But still. Technicalities of the art of conversation.

Or something like that.

The Kingslayer snorted.

"Why else would you come to me to talk about your brother. You didn't answer boy!" he kicked one leg, like he wanted to kick him with it but couldn't reach him. "Which one it is?"

"Bran."

The man blinked. Robb felt his teeth creak inside his mouth.

" The one who got burned." he said.

"Ooh, the cripple then. Interesting. What was the question again? Why should I care about your crippled brother?"

Robb took a moment to remind himself that anger was rarely the solution to a problem. Or a conversation. Or a particularly annoying prisoner.

Calm.

"Did you try to kill him? You or your family?"

The man blinked again. Slowly. Like a cat.

"If I had tried to kill your little brother he would be dead."

"But you're not the only Lannister. Nor were you the only one coming to Winterfell."

"What are you saying boy?"

"I'm asking. Why would your family want to kill a little boy? Twice?"

He snorted

"Twice? Now you're truly gone boy." he laughed. "Why would we want the death of a child?"

"You tell me."

He blinked again. Bobbled his head once more, and Robb could swear his patience was snapping inside him. Like a whip against some skin.

"Don't know." he said finally. "Don't really care either."

He wanted nothing more than punching the man right on his stupid face. But it would have given him nothing.

He persisted.

"When you were at Winterfell, my brother climbed the Broken Tower and was caught by my sister, right before he reached the window." The man blinked again, and moved. Why? " Kyria said she saw something. At the window. Then, not a sennight later, my brother is injured and escape death only by a miracle."

"Are you telling me a story now boy? Don't you have other things to do? Not that I complain, my jailer doesn't like to talk much and I am easily bored."

"After your depart." he cut him. "A cutthroat tried to kill my little brother. With a dagger. Of Valeryan Steel and Dragon bone."

If it meant something to him, he didn't show. Annoying.

"So, I am asking again, Lannister. What could he have seen in that tower, or heard, that would make you want to kill him?"

The man lost all trace of his mocking smile. His face was hard and, dared he say, almost angry. Robb didn't know if it was a good thing or not.

He waited for the answer. Expecting a jest or an insult. He got none.

"If I had wanted to kill someone, you wouldn't have wondered who did it." he said calmly. "I don't care for cutthroat or sellsword. I want someone dead, I do it myself."

"Do you?"

Jaime Lannister's face twisted into something feral. He bared his teeth and pulled the chain on his neck.

"Who do you take me for boy?" he growled. "I do my own kills. If you need to trust something about me, trust that. No one does the dirty work for me."

"No, no. You do the dirty work for others. Like the Mad King."

The clang of the chains was almost brutal. Furious glint momentarily brightened the man's face. He opened his mouth, showing all his teeth, and for one second, Robb thought of Greywind. He did that too. When he wanted to bite.

But then, as soon as it started, it was over. The Kingslayer fell back against his wall and bobbled his head. Knocking it on the hard stones. He smiled again. It looked almost as dangerous as his twisted expression one moment prior.

"You know nothing boy. Don't pretend you do."

Robb looked at him a moment longer. But the Kingslayer kept his mouth shut. Surprisingly. He challenged him with defiant eyes, but that was it.

Robb would have loved nothing more than threatening the answers he wanted right out of that throat. But he refused to torture the man. He never believed that torture could really give answers. Hurt long enough, a man would confess anything. Was it true or not.

"We aren't over Kingslayer."

The man smiled again. His white teeth shining under the dancing light of the torches.

Robb turned his back on the man and took the direction of his rooms. Against his breast, the letter Kyria had sent him almost burned, in his need to read it again. He needed her advice. Now more than ever before. He wished he could talk to her. Just one moment.

He wanted to ask so many things. But she was far from his reach. Prisoner like Sansa and Arya, at the mercy of a pathetic little boy, crazy enough to kill his most valuable hostage, and stupid enough to do it publicly.

On his heels, his Direwolf's large paw fell in line, his breath loud and harsh. Robb let his hand fall against the massive back, his eyes focused on the path opened to him.

He needed to save them.

He had to. He couldn't do this alone.

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Verdict?
> 
> I am very not sure about this one, to be honest. It was difficult to write for me, just like the last one with Robb really. I need them to plant my decor for the next book (yes it's coming!) but I am not enjoying them very much...
> 
> For the part where I explain Robb's plan... I will warn you there: I KNOW NOTHING OF MILITARY MANOEUVRES AND I AM NO EXPERT WHATSOEVER!
> 
> What I did there was an Idea I got reading the History of the World of Game of Throne and a very self indulgent idea I had in my mind to help Robb as much as I can in becoming the man I want him to be. I have no idea if this is actually doable or even if this could work. SO DONT SHOOT!
> 
> Rhm.
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> The part with Catelyn was very hard for me, like the part with Cersei had been. I don't like them very much (i already said that did I?) and I have a lot of struggle writing them without bias. I wanted to show Catelyn as a worried mother who doesn't know how to help her son but is decided to still do so. Even if it's not the right choice as we all know!
> 
> As for Robb, well I always found hard to believe how easily he accept his new title. I mean I don't know, I think for someone as young as he is, in his situation with his father death and his sister's capture, he would be a bit more frightened by the idea of MORE RESPONSABILITIES on his back.
> 
> I mean, someone trembling at the idea of a War wouldn't just accept a crown without freaking out at least a little. So I made him panic. But then I don't know, did I do too much?
> 
> Tell me everything my wonderful readers!
> 
> And guess what?! Only ONE CHAPTER LEFT! Yay!
> 
> Or, well, 1 chapter and something slightly like an Epilogue. But still, THIS BOOK IS ALMOST OVER!
> 
> That's so weird to think about... I had been on this for so long now... 2 years of planning coming to an end soon... So weiiird
> 
> Anyway, next chapter we will go deal with our Other troubles... Ya know, the only ones that should really matter... And we will see some of the changes I made already!
> 
> Hope you liked that!
> 
> See ya!


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